Legend
by Polyphoenix
Summary: Months after Harvey Dent's death, with a mob war raging in the void left by Maroni's killing and the GCPD after him, can Batman continue to save Gotham? When new threats begin appearing and a familiar face returns can even Batman stem the darkness?
1. Chapter 1

My first attempt at writing fan fiction. Please read and enjoy and feel free to leave reviews, even if they are critical. I'm always willing to learn. All mistakes are my own. If there is a beta out there who would like to volunteer to work with me on this, by all means let me know.

A/N: I do not own Batman or any other characters affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p><strong>Legend<strong>

"If you make yourself more than just a man, if you devote yourself to an ideal and if they can't stop you, you become something else entirely."

"Which is?"

"A legend, Mister Wayne."

* * *

><p>"Mister Wayne?"<p>

Bruce's head snapped up and he blinked, breaking out of his mindless staring contest with the far wall. He'd been intensely boring a hole through a blank wall with nothing but a notably boring, generic landscape print to liven it. Truth be told, he'd really been staring right through both, not really seeing or hearing anything going on in the room around him. He absently turned and looked down the table towards the annoyed speaker as he put on his best vacant, innocent expression.

"I trust you're okay with this arrangement?" The thin, bald man that had been speaking addressed him again, failing to hide the annoyance and disgust in his voice as he peered at Bruce over the tops of thick bifocals.

Light was streaming in through the open conference room windows, the blinds drawn back on such an uncharacteristically sunny day in Gotham City. The surfaces of the adjacent buildings sparkled in the radiant sunlight, reflecting the sun's brilliance off of thousands of mirrored windows and bathing the city in a false radiance.

Bruce nodded absently, appearing to all nearby to be ignorant of the looks pointed at him from the far end of the long table. Whatever the decision was, it wasn't that important. Nothing important was going to be decided at today's meeting anyways. Just more discussion...something about the ventilation system. He always made sure to pay attention in the important ones.

Two dozen pairs of eyes belonging to the board of directors for the Wayne Foundation glanced knowingly at one another, absurdly accustomed to his antics. The group quickly shifted back in their seats as Mr. Abbott continued with his presentation, looking back to the screen behind him.

To Abbott's right, Lucius Fox was leaning back in his chair, silently chuckling and shaking his head as he intertwined his fingers in front of him.

Bruce stayed where he was.

"...location of the service elevators necessitates the adjustment of the..."

Already he wasn't listening. He wasn't even sure why he was here.

The blueprints for the surgical center and the pediatrics wing the Foundation was donating to the new Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital, had been complete for eight months. Construction of the soaring glass and steel structures was already well under way at the old site of Gotham General and despite countless setbacks it was surprisingly proceeding ahead of schedule. Hell, the grand opening for the hospital was less than two weeks away.

Still, the board wanted to be involved, if only to satisfy their own self-importance. Bruce was sure the architect was chafing under the oversight, but things would get done...eventually. That much he was sure of.

Wayne Enterprises and the Wayne Foundation were working hard to help rebuild Gotham in the wake of the Joker's mayhem. Bruce Wayne was seeing to that. Even with the millions being dumped into civic projects there was still a long way yet to go. This was Gotham City, even without the madman's path of destruction there always would be a long way to go. This town always seemed to need something and the Wayne family had been there for generations providing what they could.

For generations it had also never been enough.

Bruce absently rubbed his upper arm where one of the multiple wounds he typically sported was healing. It itched. This one had been from a knife that had found its way between the plates of his suit. The attacker had been untrained, uncoordinated, and very, very lucky.

Bruce had also been unfocused. He was tired. Exhausted. He'd been out every night for two weeks straight now, barely sleeping. It was catching up to him. He was nodding off in most of his meetings these days as well, his body desperately trying to make up for lost time.

A movement to his left caught the corner of his eye and he shifted to see the rest of the people at the table rising and collecting the reports and loose sheets of paper littering the tabletop. The meeting had mercifully ended.

Bruce stifled a yawn and stood up, fighting the urge to stretch the knotted muscles in his neck and back.

It was still only 11:30 in the morning. He wouldn't be done until well after 3:00, and then he'd still have to go home and get to work. Being a nocturnal vigilante was certainly not an easy life to lead. Even if you were a billionaire. Making his way to the elevator he mentally went through the day's schedule again, silently cursing when, again, there was nothing he could cancel. It was going to be a long day. Straightening his shoulders and buttoning the top button of his suit jacket he plastered the empty smirk that Bruce Wayne seemed to permanently wear on his face and headed for the exit.

"If I didn't know you better I'd believe the disinterested rich kid show myself."

He glanced back to see Lucius Fox shuffling up, a small smile gracing his freckled face. Bruce looked back towards the now empty conference room and entry beyond. For a Thursday morning the hallways seemed to be unusually empty. He allowed a rare, honest smile to grace his features in return and shrugged his shoulders. Lucius was one of the few who merited those genuine looks.

"Today, the bored look was a little more genuine than usual," he said. "You sure you don't want me to demote you back to the basement so you can avoid these things?"

Lucius chuckled and put his hands in his pockets. "I have to admit, I have gotten use to seeing sunlight again." They started walking together, continuing down the hall towards the elevator. "I was surprised to see you today. I know you wanted to take a more personal interest in some of the rebuilding work we're doing, I just didn't expect quite this level of commitment. Especially considering your other...commitments."

Bruce nodded. "Guess I'm just detail oriented," he replied, hitting the button to call the elevator to head for the upper levels and their offices. He rubbed the bruised and tender muscles in his right shoulder. "Or maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment. Listen, Mr. Fox..."

"Don't worry about explaining yourself to me," he said, holding up his hands in deference. "I'm sure you've got a lot on your mind. Just be careful which meetings you fall asleep in. Wouldn't want stock prices to start dipping because our little billionaire can't keep his eyes open." He winked and stepped out when the doors opened. "Mister Wayne," he said, smile still in place.

"Mister Fox."

* * *

><p>Bruce hopped down the three steps from the cab of the large, industrial forklift to finish man-handling the scanner into position, pausing to unwrap it from its protective cocoon once it was in place. The large cylindrical instrument was something of an extravagance, but then again quite a bit of the equipment he was acquiring could probably be filed under that heading. Bruce figured it paid to be prepared.<p>

Although the infirmary within the cave was fast approaching completion the devil was in the details, not the least of which involved closing off the structure itself to the outside environment and sterilizing it against the cave's air, moisture, and ever present bat droppings.

"Are you absolutely certain this is necessary, sir"

Looking up Bruce found Alfred thumbing through the MRI's instruction manual, his lips pressed together in concentration and confusion.

"You've always said I needed to have my head examined. I guess now you can actually test that theory," he said, grinning at Alfred's less than amused smirk.

"As if I needed a machine to answer that question. On the contrary, I've moved on to questioning my own sanity for agreeing to help you."

Bruce smiled to himself, but said nothing.

The cave had come a long way in the past year. More through sheer force of will than anything else its construction was finally approaching something that could resemble a finishing point.

Above, construction on Wayne Manor had progressed quickly. Well, more quickly than a building of its stature should. Given the endless parade of construction crews Bruce had brought in to make the process as expedient as possible that really shouldn't have come as any great surprise. Although massively over budget it was coming in far under schedule, a fact that was far more important to its future occupant than cost.

From the driveway large sections of the massive structure looked largely complete, the brick and glass facade looming over the grounds it stood upon. Although brand new it already projected an aura of age and stateliness, perfectly matching the worn edges of its predecessor.

The rear of the building, however, told a slightly different story. Looking as though it was still in a state of extreme disorder, it was plain to see the rapidly growing structure was still undergoing heavy construction. Its steel skeletal framing that would be her bones had already been mostly covered with its skin of brick and mortar. Some of the windows and doors were already in place as well, staring blankly out over the equally unfinished gardens. The surrounding piles of bricks, concrete bags, stacks of wood, and other building materials and equipment scattered about the site spoke of a road whose destination could not yet be glimpsed, but whose path was being followed anyway.

All in all it looked remarkably like a war zone.

Unlike other sections of the house the portion above the southeast corner was largely done, requiring only some small detail work for completion. The foreman had scratched his head at the odd request by the billionaire, but a comfortable increase in his bonus had made any questions evaporate. He figured the young man had his reasons.

The cave, however, wasn't receiving nearly as fast a resurrection.

Because he couldn't risk having construction crews know there were secret catacombs beneath the foundation of his familial home Bruce largely had to do all the work himself. That meant ample amounts of pouring concrete, forming reinforcing steel, running electrical conduit, and welding together all manner of metals in his meager free time. It was yet another reason his sleep patterns were suffering.

He'd done the same thing with the downtown bunker, but that had been simple in comparison. Construction inside a cave certainly presented its challenges.

Alfred had joked that Bruce should go ahead and apply for a contractor's license at this point.

The access tunnel had been the first and most difficult task. He'd had to pour, rip up, and re-pour the concrete drive three times before it would withstand the rigors he would be putting it under. The extraordinarily difficult task of drilling through solid bedrock to create the hidden opening to the outside world had been pure torture. Hours spent loading and carting stone to be disposed of in the far reaches of the cave.

He'd encountered problems quickly when he'd started the project. Perseverance was the only thing that had made it a reality rather than a failed flight of fancy. It started with the realization that the waterfall entrance was only truly accessible by the Tumbler, Batman's jet propelled tank and preferred means of conveyance.

He'd been able to replace the destroyed car quickly with it's twin from Wayne Enterprises. Thankfully, the original military version had required the use of two of them working in tandem. That had necessitated the building of two prototypes by Wayne Enterprises. He'd simply commandeered the second one.

However, the Pod and other, more conventional vehicles Batman was being forced to use more and more often these days required a more conventional means of access. Thus, the tunnel entrance.

Bruce had also quickly realized the need to ferry in the materials and equipment necessary to construct and outfit his alter ego's base of operations, so it had served double duty.

Of course, that was only after the complicated step of funneling everything through a myriad of intermediaries and front corporations Alfred had set up. Nothing could be traced back to Wayne himself if anyone even wanted to try. It even hurt Bruce's head trying to follow the path his butler had concocted.

Two computer stations were up and running near the old ironwork, in the highest portion of the cave, away from most of the moisture. Six large high definition monitors were slaved to each station, grouped around the viewer in a flat arc of two rows high, their LCD screens glowing and flickering in the dim cavern. The blinking lights of the massive towers of servers and linked Cray super computers hummed quietly off to the side, adding their low noise to the gurgling subterranean stream far below.

The incredibly powerful setup had already been networked, linking all the monitors and systems strewn throughout the other areas of the cave with this control center. Access into the GCPD, FBI, and Interpol mainframes, as well as links to numerous cell phone carriers were secretly established. Lucius had also stopped by a week previous to set up the link to the new WayneSat system, adding its satellite imaging and GPS capabilities to Batman's arsenal.

Behind the two stations and sharing the same platform with the operations center was a large stainless steel table. Featuring a computer controlled, touchscreen LCD map of Gotham City, the screen could be manipulated to display almost any type of information, overlaid against the background map. It was Bruce's newest toy and he'd been having fun with it, beginning the arduous task of visually cataloging who and what he knew about the city and the groups that populated it.

Just to the north and deeper into the dark recesses of the cave, connected to the computer center by a perforated steel catwalk was the forensics lab. One of the "clean rooms", the lab was completely sealed from the outside cave, requiring entry through two separate sets of pneumatic doorways to prevent contamination.

Stainless steel counters lined with drawers wrapped two of the walls while another stainless steel island featuring two large sinks divided the room down the center. The counters contained all manner of equipment meticulously organized and tucked away into place. Brand new, out of the box microscopes, centrifuges, and all manner of glass containers and vials gleamed under the bright lights, patiently awaiting use.

Against the back wall sat several large refrigeration and freezer units, intended for the storage of samples and the delicate evidence Bruce was sure to accumulate in his adventures. Their clear glass of their sliding doors showed they were conspicuously empty at the moment. Something that was sure to change.

Larger equipment was kept against the final wall, immediately to the left of the entry and included assorted scanners and testing machinery for every conceivable need Bruce could find. Several flat screen monitors were also visible, glowing faintly in their standby mode, linked to the main computer center enabling Bruce to access the different databases from the lab as well.

The workshop was located opposite the lab, down the same catwalk that led away from the main computers and serving as the heart of fabrication and repair for Batman.

The instantly recognizable suit of armor was in its storage cage immediately to the left of the entry, alongside a wall covered in all his specialized tools and weapons. A small steel table and chair sat under them for cleaning, assembly, and loading.

The rest of the space consisted mostly of industrial tools and construction equipment, both computerized and handheld and capable of building or repairing anything he and Alfred had been able to come up against. The conclusion had quickly been reached that this area of the workshop would have to be the largest facility in the cave, in deference partially to the size of the equipment and partially because of the necessity to maneuver large sheets of metal and steel beams within it. Because of that it was spacious and comfortable, in sharp contrast to the cramped quarters some of the other sections exhibited, stuffed as they were with equipment.

The wall across from Batman's contraptions was covered in hand tools, neatly organized above steel counters and sets of drawers containing even more tools, fittings, and hardware at waist height.

It had been the first space Bruce had built and had essentially enabled the construction of the rest of the cave. It was also a workshop any contractor or builder would envy.

At the far end of the catwalk, wedged deep in the shadows of the cave right against the rock face were two heavy, secure storage rooms.

Built out of solid, reinforced concrete instead of the aluminum skin of the other areas, they were essentially vaults, fully sealed and climate controlled. Access was limited to the select few individuals that also knew Bruce's true identity through coded keypads and biometric scanners set into the bare walls alongside hydraulically operated heavy, metal doors.

Although largely empty at the moment the entire cave echoed Bruce's belief in being prepared. He couldn't readily keep extra machinery, spare parts, or other odds and ends strewn about on the bare rock floor after all. In a pinch they could even be used as prisoner cells, prompting Bruce to install closed circuit video cameras on the inside in case that use proved necessary. They wouldn't be comfortable and they lacked the creature comforts of most jail cells, but they would work in a pinch.

The other "clean room" and the final area under construction was the infirmary. Located towards the bottom of the cave, next to the vehicles, it could be accessed by a steel stairway that wound back up to the central platform of the computer center.

One side of it had been designated for patient care and treatment, featuring a pair of mechanical hospital beds surrounded by all of the typical monitoring and surgical equipment one would expect to find in any state of the art hospital.

Through a semi-transparent sliding divider across from the beds was the testing center. It was here that Bruce and Alfred were installing the hulking MRI scanner alongside an x-ray machine and the other microscopes and monitors the room boasted. One wall also featured a bank of climate controlled storage lockers for the numerous antibiotics, medications, toxin antidotes, and anti-venoms that they would stockpile.

Bruce had every intention of providing Batman with the best medical facilities he could. He'd certainly proved that they'd be necessary in his short time as the caped crusader.

Another unexpected problem that had emerged in constructing the cave was the location itself.

Even in the best of circumstances it would be a less than ideal construction site, but as Batman's base of operations it would be forced to support a staggering amount of sensitive equipment and devices. As a result Bruce had been forced to build a suspended ceiling above the work areas that weren't sealed off to prevent the moisture and guano from creating a problem. Anchored several feet into the rock ceiling, inch thick steel cables suspended and supported a complicated truss system on which was mounted the stainless steel skin and overhead lighting.

It provided a more permanent feel to the place and gave things a more human scale, but Bruce had been slightly disappointed in the sleek, modern look it gave and that he'd had to cover up some of the majestic cavern from view.

"Do you actually expect me learn how to operate this?" Alfred gestured to the giant scanner now sitting securely in place. He was standing off to the side, still scanning through the instrument's instruction manual. A very thick instruction manual.

Bruce shrugged. "I really doubt you're going to be the one needing a scan when this thing gets used," he said, looking up at the older man. "And we can't always get Lucius over here. Just see what you can manage." He smiled at the clear disdain showing on his butler's face. "Don't worry, Alfred. I have complete faith in you."

Alfred just raised his eyebrows in response, a sarcastic comment on his lips, but he sighed resignedly and went back to scanning the page in front of him.

Bruce knelt to finish attaching the monitors to the machine and ensuring everything was working correctly. The screen flickered and came to life, beginning its start-up sequence. Nodding his head in satisfaction he powered the equipment down into standby mode, wiping his hands on the legs of his jeans as he stood up.

"Will you be going out tonight sir?"

Bruce's jaw tensed involuntarily but didn't turn to face him. He didn't have to look at Alfred to hear the displeasure evident in his voice. "I've got a job to do."

"Even the most dedicated workers take leave occasionally," his butler pointed out. "Despite what some misguided people in the media may argue, you're only one man." Alfred pointed to Bruce's arm, the same arm that had been itching earlier and that was still extremely sore. "Some of those injuries need attending and proper rest if they're to heal. I'm sure Commissioner Gordon can keep the city from tearing itself apart for one night."

Bruce shook his head slightly, still refusing to meet the other man's gaze. "Not tonight Alfred. There's too much to do." He began walking out of the partially built structure, heading up the stairs, daring to hope that the argument was over before it began. "Soon...I'll get some rest soon. Don't worry."

Alfred wasn't going to concede defeat yet apparently because he followed his master up the stairs, stopping by the computer station and putting his hands on the back of one of the chairs as Bruce continued down the catwalk.

"And If I don't then who will?

Bruce paused, his hand on the steel railing. "I'm fine Alfred. I promise," he said over his shoulder.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but _she_ wouldn't want this."

He looked out over the cave and closed his eyes, his back still to the older man. Talking about Rachel still stung. It was a wound that had closed somewhat over the past months, but also refused to heal completely. "Rachel would have wanted me to keep going, Alfred."

"She would have," Alfred nodded, "but not at the expense of your life. Know you limits, sir. Because if you're not careful, this will cost you just that."

Bruce's busy schedule had been a point of contention between the two men of late. He'd plunged himself into his work following Rachel's death. Between the construction of the cave, his nightly duties patrolling the city as Batman, and his days reinforcing the image of a vapid, self absorbed Bruce Wayne he was quickly running himself into the ground. Although Lucius handled most of the business on the Wayne Enterprises side Bruce still insisted on being involved in certain aspects of his father's company. He needed that connection to his past and wanted to involve himself in those projects involving the rebuilding of parts of the city.

Following _her_ death he needed this to mean something even more than before.

Two weeks ago he'd promised Alfred to take a few nights off. It was a vow he didn't appear he was going to keep anytime soon seeing as he was headed for the workshop and Batman's distinctive armored suit.

Alfred simply shook his head, making his way to the elevator that would take him to the manor.

"Good hunting, sir," he said.

* * *

><p>Bruce shifted his weight for the fourth time in under an hour. No matter the level of discipline, staying crouched for hours at a time taxed the muscles as well as his patience. He settled in again, scanning the distant building through the small cylinder of his light amplifying monocle.<p>

It was an especially dark, moonless night. The soft, yellow glow coming from the streetlights and being emitted from some of the nearby buildings provided only faint illumination, allowing most of the alleys and buildings to be bathed in shadows.

The familiar smells and sounds still reached him high up on his perch, the faint saltwater smell that was ingrained in the nearby wharf and the ever present, yet distant, sounds of sirens that Gotham never seemed to be without.

Staying in the shadows six stories up and two buildings across from his target he hardly had the best view of things, but he could clearly see the front entry. That would be enough. The bugs he'd planted in the building earlier in the evening would provide the rest of the information he'd need.

An arms shipment was supposed to come into Gotham tonight. A big one. Meant for the Odessa Family, the Ukrainian syndicate that had taken control of the Jerold neighborhoods and portions of Midtown after the fall of Carmine Falcone and the death of Salvatore Maroni. Those guns, and the cash and firepower they'd bring with them, would be vital to keep the Ukrainians in any semblance of power. It was vital to Gotham and Bruce's efforts that they'd never get that chance.

The mob war that had erupted in the vacuum of Maroni's death had caught Gotham and its protectors unprepared. The Italians, the Irish, and the Ukrainians had all immediately begun scrambling over each other to grab the districts that had once been under the absolute control of Falcone. The results were predictably bloody.  
>The Italians under Johnny Sabatino were faring the best, having thus far remained relatively unscathed. Despite the best efforts of the Irish and Ukrainians to knock them off their perch they stood strong. Claiming all of South Hinkley and most of Stevensburg and Haysville, they'd been in the best position to pick up the pieces in the ensuing chaos, many of their members had simply altered their allegiances from Maroni.<p>

Sean Riley and the Riley family had taken over West Harlow and were desperately trying to move north into Odessa territory or east into Galante's. For now they were secure. Being located next to the Italians was bound to eventually prove bloody for everyone though. It was only a matter of time before greed and pride dictated a showdown.

A new group had also moved into the far northern districts of Gotham and been surprisingly effective at holding off their peers and the police. Bruce hadn't had the time to mount any serious investigations into the group or their capo, nicknamed Black Mask. The few attempts he had made had netted him nothing solid. He still didn't have a single name or image that he could link back to them. For now though they seemed content to sit securely in their own territory and let the other families claw over the scraps. Watching, as they killed each other off.

Which left Marko Kazan and the Odessa Family. Kazan had been into all manner of illegal activities since immigrating a decade previous. The group specialized in gunrunning and prostitution, utilizing their ties to their home country and proving surprisingly adept at smuggling in Russian made weapons and desperate, underage girls.

Their main weakness, however, had manifested itself quickly in the lack of people of Ukrainian or Russian heritage that made their home in Gotham. It was simply not a large demographic in the city. As a result they had trouble replenishing their numbers because of the mistrust they showed everyone else.

Ever since a car bomb had killed Kazan's son and several lieutenants a month and a half ago their grip had been faltering. In their weakness they'd been getting bolder and more desperate. A week ago a team of Ukrainians had opened fire in South City Park in broad daylight, targeting an Irish member and his family. After managing to kill twelve civilians, they'd begun a running battle with the police through the streets that claimed five more lives before they'd been either killed or managed to disappear back across the South Channel.

Headlights. Approaching the building from down 45th Street. At this hour it was unusual for anyone to be on the streets. Likely the target vehicle.

Through the grainy, green-tinged image his equipment produced Bruce watched the heavy, industrial metal door of his target open and four men walk out. All four were visibly armed. Nothing more than semi-automatics for the most part, but one had a small Russian sub-machine gun. He'd have to be dealt with first. A large delivery truck pulled up almost immediately and was hastily waved into the building, the four following it in and closing the door behind them.

They hadn't left a guard outside and there was nobody visible on the roof. That would make things easier.

Activating the audio stream he listened as the men conversed in their native dialect, speaking casually. While not fluent, Bruce could pick up enough to get the general direction of the conversation. At first it was just complaints about the hour and general greetings and small talk. One was even discussing his mistress' talents from the previous evening.

As he'd hoped, one eventually got around to discussing the contents of the truck with his comrade.

"...payment..."

"...ammunition..."

He cut the feed and allowed himself a brief smile. He'd gotten it right, the information had paid off.

Satellite thermal imaging now showed a total of six men inside. The original four plus the two with the truck that they were now unloading. They weren't expecting him either, expecting their secrecy and the late hour to cover them.

Grabbing his cape he vaulted off the parapet and activated the electrical current that caused the fabric of his cape to become rigid, gliding through the dimly lit sky.

Hitting the roof silently, Bruce immediately released the cape, rolling into the shadow provided by an air conditioning unit. There had been barely any noise, but you couldn't land on a building completely silently. He froze, holding his breath and listening.

This close to the docks you could faintly hear the bells of the channel markers clanging offshore. A distant police siren wailed in the distance, growing more faint with every passing moment.

No footsteps. No alarms or raised voices. Nothing out of he ordinary.

Bruce moved to the side of the warehouse. Climbing hand over hand down a drainpipe on the west side of the building he silently picked the lock and opened one of the large windows three floors above the men and the crates they were shifting.

Still unaware.

Slipping inside, he glanced up, taking in the various girders and trusses supporting the roof and prepared the remote that would ignite the small charge he'd placed on the breaker panel earlier, when he'd sneaked in and planted the listening devices.

* * *

><p>AN: This is intended to be a fairly long, multi-chapter story set in the "Nolan-verse". Reality will be key here, so don't expect to see Clayface make an appearance. I will present some takes on Batman's classic villains that attempt to bring them into the real world and may change their modus operandi and origins. At all times I will be working to stay true, or "Tru-ish", to Nolan's established characters. This is a story about Bruce/Batman and his struggles, not a focus on a love affair that pushes Batman to a secondary character. Will there be romance? Yes. Can I write it convincingly? We'll see. I guess this is in some ways my take on The Dark Knight Rises although it will in no way take anything from that movie. Bane isn't even planned to make an appearance. Will there be Joker? You'll have to find out.

Like I said, all reviews are welcome and will encourage me to get more chapters up (should more be desired) in an expedited manner.


	2. Chapter 2

Wanted to get a head start on trying to get this story picking up steam. The first chapter was a bit wordy and although it set the stage a bit, I want to get this posted so that things start moving a little bit. Please keep letting me know what you think. No beta, so any mistakes are my own.

Quick disclaimer about cursing. There will be some, not a lot, but it'll be around. If it is appropriate to the situation and character then I'll use it, but don't expect this to turn into a Tarantino film.

A/N: I do not own Batman or any other characters associated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>It was too early to be lifting boxes this heavy and Pavlo was still nursing a headache from drinking the previous afternoon.<p>

It had been a great party, celebrating with his cousin and friends. He just wished he'd managed to find some female company to take home with him. He wasn't one to partake in the girls they routinely imported.

Grumbling again that his superiors couldn't have given him a day off, or at least scheduled the delivery for a more appropriate hour he turned again to make his way back to the truck and the crates still waiting to be unloaded, shaking his head and trying for the twentieth time to clear the cobwebs and stabbing pain behind his eyes.

That's when he heard a distant pop and the lights went out.

Pavlo gasped as the well lit cavern of the warehouse was blanketed in darkness.

Fumbling to draw his semi-automatic from where it was tucked in the back of his pants he peered into the blackness that enveloped him, hearing annoyed shouts and curses from the others. The windows high in the building had been painted over sometime in the distant past, preventing even the light from the outdoor streetlights from reaching inside.

Silence. Other than the sounds of the Ukrainians stumbling drunkenly around in the all enveloping darkness there was almost an eerie quiet and sense of claustrophobia within the giant structure.

Moments stretched by with only the occasional muttered curse or shuffled footstep piercing the blackness. All of them fumbling around, searching with their hands for something to anchor themselves to.

Maybe he could get to the truck, turn on the headlights. Those would surely still...

The thought wasn't even complete when a shriek sounded out, shattering the relative silence to his left. Echoing through the cavernous space it faded into the distance, followed immediately by the deafening thunderclap of a pistol and the strobe of its muzzle flash thirty feet in front of him. In that brief moment of illumination Pavlo saw two men on the ground and Viktor and Nick facing away from him, weapons extended, bathed in shadow.

Then, blackness again followed quickly by another crash of sound and light.

Nick was gone.

"Fuck."

The Batman. It had to be.

Pavlo ran.

He thought he knew where an exit might be. He'd noticed one earlier, set into the wall of the building on the other side of some tall metal shelves, somewhere off to his right. His options were extremely limited at the moment and fleeing came almost instinctively.

Out. He needed to get out. There was no escaping, no fighting what you couldn't see.

He tore through the building in the vague hope his memory was accurate, tripping on something hard and metallic and causing far more noise then he'd like as he sprawled on the floor, off balance in the oppressive darkness. More shouting and another shot. He wasn't going to look back, nothing to see anyway. He scrambled to get back to his feet, kicking something out of the way as his feet found purchase.

He made it another eight feet.

Strong, gloved hands gripped his arms and he was roughly yanked up and backwards, feet kicking. He didn't even have time to manage a sound it had been so quick and sudden, the surprise and force seeming to suck the air out of his lungs.

The gun was no longer in his hands, dropped at some point in the inky black. For all the good it would have done him.

The hands released less than a second later and he was flying through the air, meeting the far wall with his shoulder and upper back and slamming what air remained violently out of his lungs. Then he was falling, landing hard on the cold, unwelcoming concrete floor with a sickening thud.

He sat still, unable to move. Body unwilling to follow instruction, haze and dark spots dancing before his eyes, his ears ringing. His shoulder was probably dislocated, maybe even broken and he was beginning to vaguely sense the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. He groaned as he tried to roll over on to his back. Everything hurt, screaming in protest at any attempt to move.

The flash of another shot flared out somewhere in the warehouse, followed closely by another scream, then darkness again.

* * *

><p>"Odessa?"<p>

Harvey Bullock turned to see Commissioner Jim Gordon striding up in the early morning hours, hands firmly stuffed into the pockets of his dark overcoat.

"Yeah. Looks like they were bringing in enough guns and explosives to bring down a few city blocks," he said, frowning. "Four, maybe five mil easy."

Gordon nodded. "Batman?"

"That's what I'd put my money on. Not that he ever leaves any trace." He sighed and looked back into the warehouse. "Looks like he took down six guys after he blew the breakers in the circuit panel. Coupla' broken arms, one dislocated shoulder, and a whole lotta bumps and bruises...they're all on the way to Mercy General to get checked out. Left em all tied up for us to find...like usual. We found some shell casing. Couple of em got off shots, maybe five or six. Doubt we'll find any blood that isn't theirs though, he's too careful for that." Bullock rubbed his face, annoyed. "Hell, even if he ever did leave us any DNA or fingerprints I'd bet my entire salary that it wouldn't show up in any database on the planet."

Lt. Bullock had been promoted to the head of the Major Crimes Unit following the promotion of Gordon to Commissioner. Despite his gruff, messy exterior he was one of the few cops whose motives were beyond reproach. Gordon liked the man and had been happy to see someone that shared his ideals put into his old position.

Everything related to organized crime was now under Bullock and his team's purview. Not to mention the serial killers and various crazies that Gotham seemed to attract like a moth to flame. It was a job filled with danger and disappointment.

It also meant that he was responsible for the ongoing police manhunt for the vigilante known as the Batman.

That meant pressure, and lots of it.

Pressure was coming from every angle possible. Seemingly everyone had one reason or another to see the vigilante caught.

The public wanted to feel safe in their beds, secure that no man in black was going to come through their bedroom windows in the middle of the night. The politicians were looking for a win they could use towards their re-elections, something to parade proudly in front of their constituents to demonstrate the good they were accomplishing. Last, were his fellow cops. Most of them were simply out for the vigilante's blood for the murder of their fellow officers. A cop killer was something that never sat well with the police.

The months that had passed since the killings had done nothing to ease the tension. Disappointment after disappointment had been mounting, frustrating everyone. They'd barely even had a sighting of him this last month and as a result, Bullock's blood pressure had been steadily rising ever since he took the job.

They continued to stand, shoulder to shoulder, watching the forensics experts go about their work. "Kazan isn't going to be happy," Gordon said.

Bullock shifted his brimmed hat to sit further back on his head, massaging his temple. "Screw him. Just wish there was some way we could connect him with that little arsenal back there. Doubt there will be, but we'll check anyway."

"He's getting desperate, he might start making mistakes. You'll get him. Just give it time"

"Yeah, but his screw ups are bound to be bloody." They stood in silence. "He's bound to go after somebody after this," Bullock pointed out. "Probably Riley's boys, but who knows. He's too stupid not to...the vicious bastard." Bullock scratched his chin, watching the investigators in their gray jumpsuits take pictures of the large delivery truck. "Bet it'll come fast too."

The Commissioner nodded. "I'll get a few more units patrolling his neighborhoods, at least for a couple days. Maybe that'll give us some warning." He turned back to his car. One crime scene couldn't be allowed to dominate his time, despite how much he almost assuredly wanted it to. "Let me know what you need, Harvey and I'll see what I can do. Oh...and try and keep me up to date on how things go here." He opened his car door and looked back, a knowing smirk on his face. "Good luck.

Harvey turned back to watch the technicians picking through the crime scene as a uniformed officer unrolled yellow warning tape across the building's open door.

"Yeah," Bullock mumbled. He wasn't catching the Batman tonight. They both knew that. It didn't look like he'd be catching anyone tonight besides a group of beat up, gun running Ukrainians.

* * *

><p>Hazy, afternoon light streamed through the giant windows beside the bed as Alfred drew back heavy fabric of the curtains. The figure in the bed reacted almost instantly, groaning at the annoyance and curling instinctively away from the sudden brightness.<p>

"Time to wake up, Master Wayne," Alfred said, turning back and setting the lunch he'd been carrying on the table beside him. "I thought something to eat would be in order."

"I don't have to be in the office today!" He rolled over, pulling the pillows over his head. "Wasn't it you who told me to get some rest?"

"Yes, well I figured one was quite late enough. Though young, billionaire playboys are expected to burn the candle at both ends, you're pushing the limits of believability."

Bruce blew out a breath and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He watched Alfred start to pick up the articles of clothing that had been strewn about the room earlier that morning in his haste to reach the friendly confines of his bed.

It had been a good night. In spite of the arms shipment that had taken up a good portion of his time Bruce had still managed to stop several other violent crimes in progress. Nothing completely out of the ordinary, but he had managed to leave several bruised and bloody criminals in his wake that would hopefully think twice the next time the urge towards violence hit them.

Sliding out of bed he quickly transitioned into his morning workout after downing the customary disgusting protein shake. Push-ups would be followed by sit-ups and stretching, all the while Alfred would make his customary comments on Bruce's activities in his typical, dry English sense of humor.

"A Miss Graham and a Miss Flores both called while you were asleep."

"Who?" Bruce stopped his push-ups momentarily and looked up, his brow wrinkling slightly in his confusion at Alfred's announcement.

"The undergarment model and the actress you met at Mr. Tyler's party last week, I believe." Alfred rolled his eyes when he noticed the subtle pause again in his master's workout, although this time Bruce hadn't looked up. "You told them both you'd like to see them again."

Bruce shook his head. "I just wanted them to stop talking to me, Alfred."

"Right, I'll be sure to ignore their calls from now on," Alfred replied drolly. "You know Master Wayne, despite what you might think, some people may find it odd that the great Bruce Wayne would prefer to spend his time with his elderly butler or the dregs of Gotham than with an attractive, young woman."

"Trying to play matchmaker, Alfred?" He paused between sets, lifting his head to let Alfred see the amusement gracing his features.

"Oh, I wouldn't even know where to begin, sir. Somehow I think an appreciation for capes and black masks might tend to attract the wrong crowd."

Bruce continued his exercises. Turning serious for a moment, he frowned. "A romance would just be a complication anyway, an attachment I can't afford."

"Or an appreciated diversion," Alfred said quickly. "It really would be quite the tragedy to see you actually experience some form of enjoyment in your life."

Bruce began the first set of sit-ups. He wasn't going to comment on his love life, or the lack thereof. After Rachel's death he'd decided he couldn't risk the entanglements a relationship brought. Not while still being Batman. The heartbreak and guilt had been a constant companion following the second darkest night of his life.

Alfred must have sensed the direction his master's thoughts had dragged him because he quickly changed the subject. "Mr. Fox also called."

"And?"

"He believes he may have a solution to the canine problem you've been facing of late," Alfred said.

Bruce frowned, pausing at the top of the sit-up. "Did he say anything else?"

"Just that he'd show it to you when you found the opportunity to see him."

Increasingly, Batman had been encountering guard dogs during his nightly outings. The Italians had been the first to find them useful and now others were beginning to follow suit.

It was effective. He'd developed the capabilities to bypass, disable, or sneak past every alarm, guard, or security system they'd tried.

The dogs were proving to be a little more...frustrating. They could catch his scent or hear him make a subtle noise that would be all but inaudible to a human's ears and raise an alarm before he could get into position. Sometimes it prevented him from accomplishing his goals, sometimes it didn't. Either way it was more efficient than not having them, Kazan's men from last night could attest to that.

Bruce had brought the issue to Lucius' attention about two weeks ago.

Alfred held up a page from the morning's Gotham Gazette, drawing Bruce's eye to one of the smaller headlines on the front page. "So, I presume last night went well."

Bruce nodded. "Marko will definitely feel the loss." He was speaking between breathes, at the top of the sit up where he exhaled. "The cracks are showing too. A shipment that size...and he didn't have anyone...of importance...there overseeing it. Either he can't risk them...or his organization is already stretched...to the breaking point."

"Will you be going out after him again tonight then?"

Bruce paused, watching the older man out of the corner of his eye while Alfred moved around, continuing to straighten up. He had a definite frown on his face, obviously still disapproving of Bruce's growing obsession.

Bruce shrugged. "Can't. I don't have enough information to target anything specific. Kazan's also getting paranoid, moving around a lot. It'll take some work to track him or find someone that knows his location." He stretched his upper back, extending his arms towards the ceiling. "I'll probably just go out and see what kind of trouble I can stick my nose into."

Bruce heard the butler audibly sigh, his back facing the still seated billionaire. "Perhaps this then?" Alfred turned and held up the morning's paper before handing it over. "It would seem one of our fair city's politicians met with some foul play last night."

"Poison?" Bruce's eyebrows crept up his forehead as he skimmed the article. "Some kind of administered toxin?" He sat back on the floor, supporting himself with his arms as he looked at the ceiling, thinking. He finally nodded. "Yeah, probably worth looking into." He glanced at Alfred, now on the other side of the room and started getting up, ready for a shower. "Those deliveries come in today?"

Shipments of equipment and material for the cave were arriving almost daily, requiring Bruce's constant attention and assistance. The list seemed to be growing too, expanding as either Bruce, Alfred, or Lucius would continue to come up with an additional capability for Batman to possess.

"Yes sir. Everything is downstairs now."

"Alright. I'll deal with that now and this," he held up the newspaper, "later."

* * *

><p>It was a wet night in Gotham City. A spring storm had rolled up the coast, carried north on the currents from the tropics far, far to the south and threatening to dump several inches of rain over the next several days.<p>

Bruce huddled on the roof outcropping, not even bothering to try and escape the deluge. It was a good spot. The downtown skyscraper provided good line of sight to the towering apartment building where Arthur Vargas had been murdered the night before.

He was comfortable in the rain. Everyone else tried to stay out of it, content to sit inside, warm and dry, but it benefited him, masking his movements from the eyes and ears of others. The water effected his cape though, throwing his glide characteristics to hell with all the extra weight the fabric gained when it was thoroughly soaked. He'd be lucky to get a third of his normal distance on a night like this, but it would be enough to make Vargas' balcony from his current location.

The drops stung the exposed lower half of his face as he noiselessly made his way across the gap to the targeted apartment's generous balcony. Landing softly he surveyed the surroundings his new perch provided.

Vargas had done well as a civil servant, owning a large apartment on the upper floor of a moderately upscale building. That meant he was probably dirty. It was highly possibly he was taking kickbacks from any number of groups for whom that would be standard.

Dishonest bureaucrats might be requiring him to champion their agendas. Or it could be developers hoping to have him approve their construction projects so they could make a nice tidy sum. It could even be criminal groups desiring him to simply look the other way. If Vargas was dirty, he almost assuredly had enemies. The question was who would have actually wanted him dead. He was in a unique position to actually help those amoral enough to seek his kind of assistance.

He angled his head towards the rain streaked glass, activating the noise amplifiers hidden beneath the ears of his cowl.

Nothing. No noise except the dull pounding of the droplets around him on the concrete deck.

It didn't mean that there wasn't anyone inside, the rain could easily have drowned out someone...if they were intentionally being quiet. He lifted the latch of the french doors and entered the bedroom, dripping water as he stepped inside. It couldn't be helped. Hopefully he'd be long gone and the water dried by the time anyone else ventured in.

The room was large, with sparse, modern furniture and uncomplicated artwork that further echoed taste and money. An archway across from him likely led to a bathroom and closet while the closed door to his right would lead into the rest of the apartment. A plush, king sized bed took up most of the wall to the left, sheets and covers draped half-hazardly across it.

A struggle? No signs of a fight were plainly visible besides the rumpled linens, nothing broken or upturned. Something more intimate then. Did that mean the murderer was female? He moved closer, eyes rapidly taking in details, scanning for anything useful. The GCPD crime scene techs were decent, but even they could easily overlook trace evidence that he might be able to use. He'd have to remember to check their reports electronically when they were saved to the GCPD network in a few days.

The poison would be a problem. He'd be able to get an analysis from the coroner as soon as it was filed electronically. Finding a sample that he could analyze himself could prove considerably more difficult. It was likely the only available sample would be Vargas' body.

Painstakingly, he began picking through the folds of the sheets, being careful to place them delicately back into position when he was done. If something had been going on in the bed there would likely be something left behind. It didn't take long for him to find several short, dark hairs. Probably dark brown, but he couldn't tell in the low light.

Arthur Vargas had had dark hair and given the length these were probably his. It was doubtful his attacker's hair was both a similar color and length, but he'd test it anyway. He kept searching.

Angling low he began studying the short, light colored carpet the room was covered in, concentrating along the sides of the bed. Slowly working his way from the base to the headboard, choosing to use only his cowl's light magnification lenses rather than risk a flashlight.

He didn't walk away empty handed.

Behind the leg of the headboard, easily missed, Bruce found a long, red hair. Definitely a woman's judging by the length, and definitely not Vargas'. Given the rarity of that color hair, if the killer _was _a redhead then that could make tracking her down less difficult...especially if the hair could also provide some DNA. It was quickly sealed in a vial and packed safely away with the other specimens.

A click from somewhere within the apartment started him, the latch of a door closing somewhere deeper in the apartment clearly audible over the dull roar of the intensifying storm outside. Bruce moved quietly over the soft carpet, sliding into the deep shadows between the balcony door and a large window, lowering himself closer to the ground where he knew he could all but disappear. He could hear footsteps coming closer, echoing down the hall in his direction and readied smoke pellets in case a quick getaway was necessary.

The bedroom door groaned slightly as it opened, parting slowly to reveal a woman's silhouette framed in the doorway by the dim light emanating from the living room. Would the killer really return to a police crime scene? She looked around, moving her head slowly to take in everything after first looking at the bed.

The scan included the wood floored entryway to the balcony. The wood floor that very obviously sported water droplets and small puddles from when he'd entered, light dancing off them from the scant light coming through the windows.

Bruce braced himself, ready for action, but after staring at the small puddles for a second she soundlessly turned and closed the bedroom door behind her before turning back and stepping further into the room.

"I know you're here."

It was a familiar voice, one he used to know. Not one that was especially welcoming, but familiar. He hadn't heard it in awhile. Not since the Joker had been sent to Arkham. Not since _she _had died.

"Detective Ramirez," he growled.

She visibly jumped when his words originated so closely to her left. Turning to see him stand up and emerge out of the shadows, his eyes narrowing.

Anna Ramirez had been on Maroni's payroll, funneling information on the police's activities to him. It helped him avoid prosecution and afforded him the time to hide the mob's funds and be one step ahead of Gordon.

Eventually it had also handed the Joker one Rachael Dawes and one Harvey Dent.

Two Face had inexplicably spared her life the night he died.

Her double cross had left Commissioner Gordon at an uncomfortable crossroads. Unable to arrest her for lack of evidence and unable to fire her because of the power of the police union, he instead moved her down to a beat detective and ensured that any case she would be privy to would be of the lowest importance.

Why she was here, in this crime scene was a mystery.

She didn't meet his eyes, choosing instead to look back over towards the bed. "Figured you might take an interest in this one. Guess I got lucky."

"You're not going to take me in?"

She glanced up at him before returning her gaze to the far side of the room. "Even if I could bring you in by myself we both know you're not the one they should be after." She stopped and glanced back at the door. "Just to be safe though we should be quiet. Bullock's out in the hall talking to a couple of uniforms." Batman remained still, staring at her. Uncomfortable with the silence, the detective turned and returned her attention to the dark bedroom. "You need any help?"

Bruce continued staring at her, looking for answers. He was regretting that he'd overlooked keeping a closer eye on her given what she'd been a party to. "Why offer?" he asked simply.

"Atonement," she said, looking sadly at the ground, her shoulders slumping visibly. "I made some bad, _bad_ decisions. Decisions that Ms. Dawes and Mr. Dent paid for. I was young and never thought it would get that far, but that doesn't make what I did or what happened any better." She looked back up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I may not have been there at the end, but I knew you weren't to blame for what happened to Wuertz...or Dent." She looked back at the floor, unable to maintain the eye contact and shuffled her feet. "You took the blame so Gotham wouldn't suffer."

"I did what I had to."

It was the truth. If Gotham was ever to remold its image from the festering, crime ridden metropolis it had been for decades then Dent's actions had to be kept secret, his legacy, and the hope it provided, preserved.

"I've barely been able to live with this. Barely sleeping. Barely eating. The guilt just eats away at you. Sometimes I just wish that damn coin had made Dent pull the trigger." Ramirez finally looked up, meeting his gaze. "You're suffering because of my mistakes."

Bruce didn't have a response to that, so he just continued standing there, silently. He would never be able to forgive this woman for her part in Rachel's death, but nor could he take solace knowing that she was paying for it in her own way.

"It's not fair either," Ramirez continued. "You're actually trying to help this city. One of the few. It's just not fair." The last sentence was mumbled, barely audible.

"It's not about fair." Bruce turned back to the balcony door. Lt. Bullock, his hunter, was mere feet away and he was in a police crime scene, thirty five floors above the street. It was time to leave.

"Wait," she said. He paused, cocking his head back towards her, but not turning around. "I...I just wanted to apologize. I came here to say I'm sorry...to you." She sniffled, the sound drowned out as she wiped her forearm across her nose, before continuing on. "You're still here. Despite what's happened, with everyone against you, you're still here...fighting. I know it's not much, but I owe you an apology Batman. I just wish there was something more I could offer you." Ramirez loudly released the breath she'd been holding. "There's so many things I wish were different"

Turning his shoulders Bruce looked at her fully. She looked broken. Defeated. Dark circles under her eyes obvious even in the darkened room. A look he remembered seeing in the mirror years ago, when he went to a courthouse to murder a man. It had been fate that someone else had beaten him to the punch and gunned down his parents' killer instead of him.

"Get me a sample of the toxin that killed the Councilman," he said. "It would be...difficult, for me to get on my own." He'd give her the chance at redemption. Rachel had been there for him when he'd been about to go down a dark path. She'd literally slapped the sense into him. Maybe he could help the detective get off that same path. Despite his feelings towards the woman, she deserved the same opportunity he'd had.

Ramirez took a step forward, finally glancing back up at him. "How will I get it to you?"

"I'll find you." And he was gone, disappearing into the rain.

Barely audible, drowned out by the pounding rain, she whispered. "Thank you."

* * *

><p>AN: How do you like the inclusion of Harvey Bullock? There's such a rich history of characters in the Batman Universe that I just can't resist using them. If they translate well to the "Nolan-verse" and fit well within the story then I'll definitely make use of them.

As you can also see, I may jump to different points of view on occasion. Again, if it lends something interesting to the story then I'll definitely consider it, but the majority of the time it will be Bruce Wayne. Never will it be the villains though. I want their motivations and goals unknown as well as their activities between the times we see them. Needs to be a little mystery after all. That's one of the things that I felt made the Joker so effective. He was like a force of nature, his mere presence in the movie and knowledge that he was "around" effected the entire story, but you never saw him planning or really knew what he was thinking.

Last, I refer to him as Bruce even when he's Batman. It just makes more sense in my head that that's the way he thinks of himself, even when he has the mask on.

Red hair and poison? Anyone?

Hope you enjoy. Please drop a review if you're feeling charitable.


	3. Chapter 3

And the proverbial waste hits the proverbial fan.

Thanks to those who left me a review or comment, they really do spur me on to keep things moving along. Be sure to keep leaving them, I love hearing what you guys think.

A/N: I do not own Batman or any characters associated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>Freddie Catellano was having a good day.<p>

He'd managed to earn the attention of Johnny Sabatino himself the night before when he'd successfully moved another six million in cash from their overseas front companies and into the Galante Family bank accounts. Ever since Gordon and the Batman had tracked all their money and nearly destroyed organized crime in Gotham City, the Italians had been taking no chances. It was unusual to bring accountants and financial consultants into their midst, but they needed their money properly laundered and cleaned. Now more than ever.

Freddie smiled. He'd be moving up in the organization soon, he just knew it. He'd brought in shipments totaling forty-two million in total in the six months he'd been working for Sabatino, a majority of their earnings.

The rain that had been threatened by the TV meteorologist had also yet to make an appearance. The filtered sunlight that managed to pierce the still somewhat ominous clouds was enough to banish what may have otherwise been a dreary day. The overcast sky also didn't effect the temperature much, providing a cool, crisp day, not out of the ordinary for this time of year.

It provided a pleasant enough afternoon to hold his daughter's birthday party, assuming the rain held off for another precious few hours more.

Sophia had been delighted when he'd told her they'd have her birthday at Robinson Park. Her excitement tripled when he'd revealed that he'd rented the lake pavilion, the one where the kids could feed the ducks and swans that would flock to them as soon as the first crumb hit the water.

Freddie took a sip of his lemonade and watched the kids chase each other over the well manicured lawns while the adults set up a lunch at the picnic tables, complete with a strawberry cake, a pile of carefully wrapped gifts, and enough multi-colored balloons to make his six year old float away.

"Heya Fred-o!"

Freddie turned to find his friend James enthusiastically striding towards him, colorfully wrapped present tucked securely under one arm and the outstretched hand of his beaming little girl in the other. He watched fondly as James bent down and whispered into her ear with a devious grin gracing his features. She looked up at him, grinned wide, her eyes lighting up, and went tearing off after the other kids.

"Glad you could make it Jimmy," he said, clapping his hand on his friend's back as they shook. "How's life treating you these days?" They walked together back to the folding chairs that had been set up in the shade of a towering oak. "Drink?" He gestured to the three coolers near their destination.

"Sure," James bent down and began noisily rummaging through the ice. "And things are going good. Well enough considering the competition we've got, not to mention the constant irritation of masked freaks," he said over his shoulder. Finally settling on a lemonade he rose again and paused, taking a sip. "Way I hear it though I ought to be congratulating you. Sounds like you're making all of us rich men. Man on the move they're saying." He raised his drink in salute. "Cheers."

"Yeah, just good with numbers and a bit of luck is all," Freddie shrugged. "Richard mentioned that the boss had taken notice. That's a good thing, right?"

James took a moment, measuring his words carefully while they both watched the kids running across the grass, laughing and yelling. "Yeah, it's a good thing, so long as you keep up the good work. Just be careful," he warned. "The more important you get to them, the more interest everyone else will take in you too. Cops, the Irish...him..." he trailed off.

"Him?" Freddie laughed, staring at his friend like he'd grown a third eye. "You really think he'd come after a glorified bean counter?"

"I think he'd take on anyone if he thought it would hurt Galante. Never underestimate the Bat." James shifted slightly to look more fully at Freddie. "You hear about those Ukrainians the other night?" Freddie shook his head, he'd been too preoccupied with Sabatino's money to worry about current events. "Six of em, with six million in weapons they were bringing in. Bat hit em...hard, nobody even saw him." James turned to look back towards his daughter. "In this town, too much attention can be a bad thing. All I'm saying is be careful. He took down Falcone and Maroni practically one handed from what I hear."

Freddie scoffed. That was probably more rumors swirling to make mobsters quake in fear, it was too far fetched to be true. "Thought that was just gossip? Stuff to scare guys like us?"

"Dunno. Best not to find out I figure," James said. Freddie nodded, you couldn't really argue with that train of logic. "But it's your girl's birthday, how's about we talk about something a little more positive?"

He grinned. James always had a way of lightening the mood, all the way back to their grade school days when they'd grown up on the same dingy block in the Southside of Haysville, east of downtown. "How's Marie doing? Couldn't make it?" he asked.

"No. That damn morning sickness is hitting her hard." James' wife was pregnant with their second child. They'd found out only a week ago that this one was a boy and James hadn't stopped smiling since. "Hey, what's the deal with the funeral procession?"

Freddie looked at James in confusion before following his friend's equally puzzled gaze towards a line of five dark SUV's approaching the park from down the street. "I don't know. Was the president in town today or something?" He shrugged, watching as the cars pulled up. Moments later their darkened, reflective windows rolled down in unison.

The peace of the day was shattered by the sudden explosion of automatic gunfire that erupted from the vehicles. The staccato sounds of multiple assault rifles combined into a roar, bullets kicking up large clumps of the grass and criss-crossing across the park.

James was already down, the opening salvo had caught him several times before he'd even reacted. Freddie watched in horror as a large red stain blossomed and slowly grew on the front of his t-shirt, staining the light material as one of his oldest friends gasped for breath. Everywhere there was noise, people screaming, children sobbing, women in pain...the giddy atmosphere of the party had devolved completely into chaos. He looked up to see one man nearby raise a pistol before going down as at least six bullets tore into him.

There had been at least fourteen Galante Family men at the party. From his vantage Freddie could see a couple trying vainly to return fire. They were caught out in the open and hopelessly outgunned, their small sidearms would be no match for the large caliber automatic weapons being directed their way. He could see several more already lying prone, like marionettes with their strings cut, bleeding from multiple wounds. Like James, they'd probably been targeted in the opening salvos.

Freddie's breath caught, his heart beating thunderously, threatening to beat out of his chest.

Sophia! Where was Sophia?

Amongst the dead adults he could make out some smaller forms splayed out on the grass, some sobbing and holding their heads, rocking back and forth in shock. Others didn't move at all. The horror of what was happening suddenly dawned on Freddie.

They were targeting the children too. The bastards were actually shooting at the children!

Swiveling his head frantically and scanning what was left of the birthday party, Freddie panicked, all thought of his dying friend and other party goers forgotten. He'd last seen his little girl at the playground.

The tangle of metal and plastic the kids had been so excited for was between the attackers and him, closer to the dark SUV's, still spewing destruction from their open windows. Freddie chanced a glance, exposing his head to the incoming fire only to freeze in horror. There were several small bodies slumped nearby the multi-colored equipment.

No! She couldn't be dead, she had to be okay!

Without thinking he took off at a sprint, leaving the cover of the picnic table he'd been huddled behind, his paternal instincts taking control.

Freddie barely felt the impact of the first bullet. It hit him high in the left shoulder, spinning him slightly from the force, almost causing him to lose his balance. He pressed on though, his singular focus masking most of the pain.

The second bullet impacted his stomach, dropping him to his knees and slamming the breath out of his lungs violently. Freddie gasped, trying to regain his breath. He managed to force himself up to one knee slowly, willing himself to rise further and continue on, the fingers holding his abdomen stained with the blood seeping slowly between them.

He managed to make it to the playground, collapsing back to his hands and knees in pain into the soft sand the equipment was surrounded by. The adrenaline that had been driving him was finally losing the battle to the pain gripping his body.

"Sophia!" he cried, panicked, trying to will himself to his feet one more time. He coughed, wiping away the blood dripping from his lips. "Please! Sophia!"

The intensity of the fire suddenly shifted in Freddie's direction, clanging loudly off the metal structure and kicking up puffs of sand around him. There must not be many targets left, he realized, sickened. There had been close to forty people expected for the party. Freddie had no idea how many had actually shown up on time. Could all of them be dead?

The only cover left in his immediate vicinity was a thick, plastic tunnel that connected two pieces of the surrounding playground. Bullets whipping around him, he scrambled for it, still holding his stomach. There still hadn't been a glimpse of the bright red dress Sophia had been wearing at her party.

Some slight glimmer of hope remained.

He staggered around the mouth of the tunnel, half crawling, to be met with two pairs of eyes, wide as saucers. Sophia and another little boy were curled up together, shaking uncontrollably. Only the boy registered his arrival, staring back at him with his giant blue eyes. Sophia was in shock, looking tiny as she shivered. Freddie started to move forward, wanting to comfort her, to tell her everything would be okay, but the pinging of the bullets snapped him back to reality.

His daughter was alive and he had to keep her that way. He had to lead whoever the shooters were away from her hiding spot.

"Baby, I need you to stay here," he said, far more calmly than he felt. "I need you to stay here with your friend. I want you to wait for the police. Okay? Can you do that?" There was no response from his little girl, her gaze met empty space, but the boy next to her nodded. "Good," he turned back to Sophia. "I love you sweetie. Remember that."

Freddie knelt and kissed her forehead before moving back to the other side of the tunnel. He chanced a glance back, the obtrusive sound of automatic weapons fire dying down momentarily. The boy was watching him, following him intently with his eyes. Sophia still clutched him tight, staring off into space.

He allowed himself a small, sad smile, took a deep breath, and ran.

* * *

><p>Commissioner Gordon leaned into the chill, biting wind, stuffing his hands deeper into the pockets of his overcoat. The brisk day the city had experienced was gone, replaced with a coldness that reached the bone.<p>

Appropriate given where he was.

Night was just beginning to fall on Gotham, the last vestiges of daylight quickly running away over the horizon. He stood at the edge of Robinson Park, overseeing the cleanup of a slaughter.

There was a group of them, standing in a small half circle off to the side, silently taking in the somber scene. There was nothing to be said. Bodies were strewn out before them, contorted in different grisly poses in the darkening light, lit only by the eerie overhead lights the police had brought it to illuminate the scene while they worked. The victims who hadn't survived had been left out in the open as the forensics people moved through them, going about their grim duties.

Judging by the amount of bodies they'd be at it all night.

Finally, the Commissioner broke the silence. "How many?"

Someone to his right answered, a woman, new to Major Crimes. "Twenty two dead and another fifteen injured," she let the silence envelop them again briefly before speaking again. "They found six kids uninjured...a couple of women too. Jesus Christ, they went after kids..." she trailed off, shaking her head.

Gordon nodded. Someone had made quite the statement. Going after the Galante members was one thing, but from initial reports they'd kept firing long after most of those men had been killed, going so far as to target the remaining children at the party. The Ukrainians had suffered their setback only two nights ago. Was this their retaliation? He knew they were considered vicious, even by mob standards. But kids?

The Commissioner removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose where the headache was starting. He needed to take control, get his people into action and stop this before it went further.

Gordon took a deep breath and turned to the small circle of detectives around him. "Alright, Bullock, I want ID's on everyone here as fast as humanly possible. We need to figure out which of Sabatino's men were killed and how important they are." He turned slightly to his right to address another man. "Petit. Witnesses. There's a whole lot of apartment buildings along this street and we need to talk to everyone in them." Gordon glanced at the woman who'd spoken earlier. "Detective Montoya?" She nodded once. "You're with him." He flicked his head in the direction of the departing Petit. "Everyone else, stick with the forensics people. I want to know every little thought that goes through their heads so that we don't have to wait three days for reports and lab results to get started on this."

It was going to be a long night, he figured he should call Barbara soon and let her know he'd be out late. Something this big demanded his complete attention.

He wandered through the crime scene, mind a whir, never taking his hands out of his pockets. The media was going to have a field day with this. Entire families gunned down in broad daylight in a nice, middle class neighborhood. He turned and looked down the street, shielding his eyes with his hand from the powerful police lights. There were already plenty of TV vans parked just past the police line, mixed with a crowd of onlookers that was growing by the minute, drawn by all the police activity.

He pushed his glasses farther up his nose, wincing at the stab of pain that had spread to the backs of his eyes.

There had been no warning of an impending attack. Despite additional patrols in the Odessa neighborhoods and surveillance on known fronts and gathering places this had been a complete surprise. That lack of warning was concerning as well. Mobs weren't generally known for stealth and subtlety.

The Commissioner paused and looked down at the body of a middle aged man. The Smith and Wesson handgun that lay several feet from the body marked him as one of the mobsters. Whoever he was, he'd tried to fight back.

Someone of some importance had to have been at the little girl's birthday party, it wouldn't have been attacked otherwise. Someone Sabatino would miss. Someone Sabatino would undoubtedly want revenge over. The war that had been simmering in Gotham City was about to explode.

He felt useless at the crime scene. Given his job title he was becoming more an administrator and politician than a cop, a fact that was becoming more and more grating on him and something he'd never enjoy.

Gordon turned slowly and began walking back to his car. A brief flicker of motion caught his attention and he glanced at the darkened rooftops of the surrounding buildings, seeing nothing. The last part did nothing to curb the ever present feeling that he was being watched though.

He hadn't talked to Batman since the night he'd been convinced to turn him in. He'd wanted to contact him, if nothing else than to just check in. Just to know that the man who'd saved his family was doing alright. He owed him that. Actually he owed him far more than that, but it was a debt he figured he'd likely never get to make good on.

Unfortunately, short of shining a spotlight into the night sky Gordon hadn't come up with a way to actually reach him.

Internal Affairs had also been keeping an eye on him for the first few months following the murders. During that time he wouldn't have been able to risk contact even if he'd been able. All the interaction and partnership that had existed between him and the caped crusader had made him very suspicious to some people. Gordon couldn't blame them. There had been times when even he had wondered if he was crazy to work alongside a man that dressed up as a giant bat.

The night Harvey Dent had died had provided him with a permanent answer to that query.

As the months past he hadn't forgotten about the dark knight. Batman had eluded Bullock and his task force time after time, all the while managing to continue dismantling the organized crime syndicates throughout the city. Jim Gordon just wished there was more that he could do. Again, he owed him that.

Reaching a decision he began casually strolling towards a dark alley that branched off from the main street his car was parked along.

Even here, in this upscale neighborhood the alley smelled, littered with garbage and clutter. Like many of the alleyways and smaller side streets of the city most of the lighting was broken, bathing the buildings in darkness. All the better for the less well meaning of Gotham's citizens to hide from unwanted intrusion. He chanced a glance up, watching the rooftops and fire escapes of the surrounding buildings as he worked his way deeper. It was a long shot, but if ever he'd be around and in the mood to talk it'd be after something like this.

"You shouldn't be trying to contact me." Came a growl from behind him. Gordon spun to find the Batman perched on the railing of a fire escape a floor above him. One that he'd looked at only seconds earlier. He hadn't heard a thing.

* * *

><p>Bruce moved deeper into the shadows of the rooftop when the large sodium crime scene lights flickered on, flooding the distant nightmare with their harsh light. He counted the number of bodies again now that they were better illuminated and watched the forensics teams performing their various tasks, their shadows splaying across the park at odd angles under the powerful lights. He angled his head better to hear the various conversations going on through the amplifiers, adjusting the gain to work out the static as best he could, wanting to catch any tidbits that didn't fall into the electronic reports they'd eventually be making and that he'd eventually read.<p>

Something was wrong. He'd already listened as no less than five people had brought up Marko Kazan and the Odessa Family. It had been the first thought to pop into his mind as well when he'd first heard of the massacre. Kazan wasn't a criminal mastermind, but nor was he an idiot. Their organizations seldom took responsibility for their actions, but this soon after his arms shipment had been seized any attack would be almost automatically blamed on him. He'd know that too. Could this be more complicated than it seemed?

Bruce felt like he was missing something.

He shifted his gaze farther to the south to a small group of individuals huddled together, serious looks on their faces. Gordon and his team. The Commissioner was speaking with them, giving them direction, being their leader.

As Batman, Bruce had always intended his fight against crime to be a solitary one, spreading the fear that his creation produced to discourage the criminals of his city. Until he turned himself into one of those criminals, following Dent's death, he hadn't realized how much he'd come to appreciate Jim Gordon and take for granted the ability to interact with him and the police. With a few exceptions he'd had kindred spirits, honorable men and women to work alongside.

Things had changed considerably for him since then. He'd once worked with Gordon to track Maroni's money and they'd attempted to wrap up the entire mob in one fell swoop. It had been an optimistic, large scale plan that had nearly worked. A plan on a scale that he was no longer capable of.

He was back to being one man again. A man that may be able to do the things that the police couldn't, but a man that also couldn't do what they could. As powerful as Bruce Wayne and Batman were, they couldn't arrest, try, or incarcerate anyone, forcing him to alter his tactics as a result.

Even his transportation had evolved. Gone was the powerful black tank he preferred. The Tumbler sat idle in the cave, too conspicuous and too recognizable. Although it could outrun nearly any vehicle and pound through nearly any obstacle, nightly chases with the police would be...distracting and would prevent him from accomplishing his goals.

He still utilized the Pod from time to time when speed and maneuverability were essential, but for the most part he now prowled the streets of Gotham in one of several customized, but very nondescript vehicles. For now, he chose to blend in rather than stand apart.

Bruce shook the idle thoughts off and glanced back towards the park. The detectives had scattered, going about their jobs. Several were heading toward the crime scene while another couple headed for a distant brick apartment building, probably to start interviewing eyewitnesses. Gordon was walking back towards his car, his coat clutched around him tightly to shield himself from the cold as he glanced at the rooftops further to the west.

The masked man almost smiled. Gordon knew him all too well.

After a brief hesitation by his sedan and a quick glance back towards his men, the Commissioner started making his way towards a dirty, deserted alley several buildings over from where the Batman silently watched.

It was an invitation.

Bruce sighed, this wasn't a good idea. Gordon should be thinking about his family. He had so much more to lose than he did.

He silently moved to the side of the rooftop anyways, removing his grapple gun and making his way to the next rooftop, heading west towards Gordon.

Minutes later he was watching Gordon casually stroll down the alley, careful to avoid the puddles from the recent rain, his hands in his pockets, eyes roaming. Nobody was following him. No electronic surveillance of any kind that Bruce could detect and no other person in the alley in either direction. In shadow, he dropped to a railing, the padded soles of his boots preventing even the tiniest of sounds.

"You shouldn't be trying to contact me," Bruce said, watching the man below him visibly jump and turn in his direction.

"Still doing that I see," Gordon chuckled. At Batman's silent response the older man held up both hands in a placating gesture. "I know, I know." He glanced back towards the mouth of the alley, in the direction of the bustling crime scene. "Things are getting worse." Batman remained silent, watching his friend shake his head in dismay. "Twenty-two dead and fifteen injured…including kids."

Bruce glanced over the head of Gordon where he could see two technicians picking up a black body bag. From the way they carried it it was easy to tell the occupant wasn't a full size person. "There's going to be retaliation."

Gordon nodded. "I know. Sabatino isn't going to take this laying down. He'll go after Kazan. He's going to want blood."

"I'm not sure Kazan was responsible." Bruce watched Gordon's head whip up in surprise, wide eyes meeting his.

The Commissioner stared at the crouched vigilante, barely visible in the deep shadows, knowing that he wouldn't say something like that without a damn good reason. "The seized weapons, the shell casings from Russian made AK47's, the fact that it was a drive-by shooting...it sure points the finger at the Ukrainians," Gordon said. "What makes you think it was someone else?"

Bruce wanted to shrug, but the Batman wouldn't do that. His mind raced though, trying to connect the dots. "There's something else going on," he finally said. "They would have known I was the one that attacked their men with the shipment. Galante had nothing to do with that."

"Doesn't mean he wouldn't have done this. They're getting desperate," Gordon pointed out. "This could have been an attempt at a preemptive strike. Trying to throw the other gangs off balance." He took his glasses off and massaged his forehead. "You have anything to back this up?"

"Nothing solid. Something about what happened seems too neat, too organized for Odessa."

Gordon's jaw dropped. "You think _that_," he said, gesturing back to the bloody scene he'd just left, "looks neat?"

"They were precise in their targets, taking out the armed men first and boxing in the survivors of the opening attack, preventing any escape."

The older man looked deep in thought, rubbing his chin and looking at the ground, his glasses still in his other hand. "Okay, but pretty much anybody would try to kill the armed men first. It's self preservation." He went back to rubbing his chin. "One thing is bothering me though. Every witness says the vehicles stopped." He continued on when he saw the Dark Knight's blank expression. "They actually drove up, stopped, and opened fire that lasted for almost two full minutes. Any gang or mob hit involves the car never stopping. You continue driving and hopefully hit everyone you intended. There's no going back."

Bruce nodded. "They knew the police response times, maybe even the locations of the nearest units. So, they knew they had time and were patient. They were on a clock."

"Like you said, precision," Gordon said. "Any idea who would be capable of that? Definitely not the current cast of characters that I can think of. They're not capable of this. Someone new?"

He looked up to find the fire escape deserted, the rooftops too. Only the normal city sounds met his ears. Chuckling darkly he turned back towards the ongoing investigation, shaking his head. "Still doing that," he said quietly. "It was nice to see you too."

* * *

><p>AN: So, there you have it. Hope you guys stay with me after this chapter.

I felt it was necessary to show a nice day go horribly wrong. Not sure including the kids was the right or wrong thing to do, but yeah, I went there. One thing I want to be plainly obvious in this story is just how dark and dangerous Gotham City is. I didn't want the characters to _just_ be thinking about how bad things are, I wanted to illustrate it very clearly. These are ruthless mobsters, murderers, and psychopaths we're talking about here...they don't play nice and they lack a certain moral fiber.

Probably kind of a downer chapter, but next one we're introducing some new people to the mix and Batman gets medieval on some poor schmucks.

Be nice and leave a review!


	4. Chapter 4

I lied. I promised some Batman action...well, that's still happening, but next chapter. This one got long and I broke it up decided to go ahead and get this one posted. Chapter 5 shouldn't take long though since it was envisioned to join this one.

Thanks to all who have reviewed and given me all the positive feedback. I appreciate every one, keep it up!

A/N: I do not own Batman or any other characters affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The grand opening for the Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital was already in full swing by the time eight rolled around and by all appearances it was going to be quite the spectacle.<p>

Ironically enough, it wasn't actually the grand opening of anything. Just another gala where the new hospital could raise even more money for their already top of the line facilities.

The main wings had been completed and would be accepting patients within a week, but the buildings the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundation were donating as well as the administration center and parking structure wouldn't be finished for at least another month.

Apparently that was still cause enough to celebrate.

The red carpet had been rolled out downtown at the towering Plaza Hotel for the occasion and the tabloid photographers were out in full force, lining up and greeting each arriving guest with a blinding show of flash bulbs.

It was all excessive and, to Bruce, incredibly annoying.

It had been a week and a half since the massacre in Robinson Park and the streets had been unnervingly quiet in its wake, even the most hardened individuals apparently cowed by the brutality of what had occurred. The normal street crime and small time mob turf scuffles could still be counted on, but following something the scale of the 'Birthday Party Bloodbath' the relative calm was unsettling.

Bruce kept the mask of the indifferent womanizer firmly in place, smiling and nodding to the assorted photographers as they shouted at him.

Inside though his mind raced, mentally reviewing all the information and theories he had for the hundredth time. Something still didn't feel right, he could feel that much in his gut.

First, there were the five matching vehicles behind the assault, none of which were one of the two dozen Odessa vehicles the Batman currently had trackers on. True, they could have simply not used any of those vehicles as a matter of chance, but Bruce didn't think so. That would be some coincidence.

Then, there was the relatively obscure and expensive Romanian made shell casings that had been recovered at the scene. Because the weapons had been fired inside the vehicles very few of the brass cylinders had been recovered at the scene and it had taken quite a bit of legwork for Bruce to find the one that had rolled and fallen into the storm drain beneath one of the vehicles. It wasn't ammunition you simply went out and bought. Hell, it couldn't even be found in Gotham. Not in any quantity anyway. It meant someone knew what they were doing.

Add those facts to the points Gordon had made about their tactics and something seemed...off.

As hard as someone had tried to make this seem like mob retaliation, they may have made some small mistakes. Hopefully, mistakes that could eventually paint a bigger picture and lead him to the real people responsible.

Bruce frowned, the playboy facade cracking for only an instant.

He hadn't been able to find Marko Kazan either, the man was apparently talented at staying off his radar. He'd been searching for him almost nightly as the Batman, foregoing some of his other, usual patrols. Attempting to find the man everyone assumed responsible for the heinous act, but who Bruce was feeling more and more certain had been set to take a fall by parties unknown.

"Brucie?"

His thoughts broken, Bruce looked down at the woman who currently had both her arms wrapped around his. She looked back, batting her eyelashes and flashing him a toothy smile.

"C'mon. I wanna go inside!"

Inwardly he rolled his eyes. They'd been standing outside the hotel entry having questions shouted at them by the assorted press for the last five minutes. All so that this apparently well known pop singer, Paige-something, could mug and pose for pictures on the arm of one of the world's most eligible bachelors.

She was beautiful, in her sparkling, deep red, floor length gown and tightly styled blond hair. She also hadn't said anything remotely interesting since he'd picked her up. Apparently she was the next star to come out of some insipid reality show and her people had been clamoring for them to go on a date for some time now.

Alfred had really outdone himself this time. Bruce was already planning ways to lose her in the crowd once they'd successfully made it inside.

He sighed and allowed himself a small smile, the corners of his mouth barely quirking up. "Lead the way."

Fifteen minutes later, his date for the evening having been effectively escaped Bruce wandered the main ballroom, a full flute of champagne that he'd never drink gradually warming in his hand. The music from a string quartet drifted through the air, just barely louder than the buzz of conversation taking place in the cavernous room. He was trying his best to mingle with the rest of the social elite of Gotham, but itched to be elsewhere.

If he had to hear about Burton Imports' newest acquisitions one more time...

"Mister Wayne?"

Bruce grinned and turned to find Lucius coming up next to him.

"Mister Fox." He nodded, shaking his friend's hand. "Having a good time?"

"About as good a time as you are I'd imagine. I must say, I'm surprised to find you here. Given your normal nighttime activities I thought you'd be...elsewhere."

"Alfred threatened to hide my car keys if I didn't do something...social."

The older man chuckled at that. "Alfred is a very smart man. Very stubborn too," he said, the two of them falling into comfortable silence, watching those around them enjoy the night. The music had continued and several couples had begun slowly dancing near the center of the room, beneath a sparkling, ornate crystal chandelier.

"You know you still haven't come by to see the new toys I have for you to play with."

"Well, you know how it is, Mister Fox," Bruce said, gesturing to include the entire room. "Apparently, I'm a very important man and other important people have important things to discuss with me. I just don't know where the time goes."

"Mmhmm." He nodded knowingly. "Actress?" Lucius was looking back over Bruce's shoulder now, towards the far corner of the room where Bruce knew he'd left his date chatting with a small throng of eager men.

"Pop-star."

"That sounds about right." Lucius was grinning, obviously enjoying Bruce's discomfort. "Be sure to let me know when you want to see them though. I know you're not much of a dog person and I've got a couple of things I really think you'll like."

"It's really not about what I like so much as it seems like they _really _have it in for me."

Lucius smiled. "I see. Have you tried dog biscuits?" Bruce laughed. Fox jerked his head in the direction of the food and Bruce nodded. Together they casually started making their way through the densely clustered crowds.

"How're things coming along with the manor?"

"Hoping to move back in in a matter of weeks actually. At least that's what they tell me." Bruce leaned in closer and whispered. "You'll be happy to know the...sub-basement is almost done too."

Lucius raised an eyebrow as he looked at the younger man out of the corner of his eye. "Is it now. That certainly couldn't have been easy, Mister Wayne."

"It's a labor of love." Bruce shrugged.

"Love? Probably not the term I'd choose." Fox glanced up over Bruce's shoulder and seemed to notice something in the crowd. After briefly pursing his lips in thought he turned back to the younger man. "Come on, I've got someone you might be interested in meeting."

Bruce allowed himself to be led past the merrily twirling dancers and over towards the monstrous, floor to ceiling windows overlooking the tranquilly twinkling lights of the city and the distant blackness of the Atlantic Ocean beyond. The appetizer tables had been set up beneath them, dressed up in rich, dark red silk cloth and covered in extravagant displays of flowers. Tastefully positioned between the explosions of foliage were artfully arranged servings of vegetables, cheeses, and hot and cold delicacies on shining silver platters being promptly serviced by at least a dozen employees in tuxedos.

Lucius was approaching a man and woman standing off to the side of the heavily laden tables and out of the way of most of the throngs of party guests.

The man appeared to be in his mid forties and dressed in a fashionable, but ordinary dark, pinstriped suit. He was tall, not quite as tall as Bruce, but above average, and bald, with a full, graying beard and thick rimmed, round eyeglasses that hid highly intelligent dark eyes. He was just finishing amicably chatting with one of the doctors Bruce recognized from previous hospital fundraisers as they approached, genially clapping the man on the back and laughing at some unknown joke as they parted.

The woman, by comparison, was a complete contrast to her companion, timidly trying to hide behind him. From what Bruce could see she was extremely short, barely even rising to Bruce's shoulders, and probably far younger than her rather ordinary appearance made her seem. Wearing a simple, plain black dress that was probably one or two sizes too large and hung off her unflatteringly, she had her blond hair pulled back into a professional, but messy bun, brushing the bangs out of her eyes self consciously and eyeing the surrounding people warily from behind fashionable wireframe glasses.

Lucius waved at them as they approached before greeting the pair and making introductions. "Bruce Wayne, Doctor Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum," Bruce shook the offered hand.

He'd reviewed the files on all of the Arkham personnel following the discovery that Crane had been using it as his personal laboratory. From his file Strange came across as both a brilliant doctor and administrator. Having taught at several universities and served on the board of multiple hospitals he had come highly recommended for the job. Rumor had it that the Gotham police were even informally utilizing his expertise to form a profile for the Batman.

There had been no obvious red flags that Bruce had been able to detect, but admittedly Jonathan Crane's record had been absent of any illicit activities before he'd joined Ra's al Ghul. That certainly hadn't stopped him.

"And this...is...," Lucius gestured towards the other stranger, the woman, in expectation, obviously having never met her before.

She fidgeted nervously, but eventually shook Bruce's offered hand, looking up at him uncertainly through her bangs. "Dr. Harleen Quinzel, Chief of Psychological Study and Treatment at Arkham Asylum."

"Hi there," Bruce said, giving them both what he knew was a wide, disarming smile. "I hope you're both enjoying our little party?"

They both nodded and smiled politely, one more enthusiastically than the other. Of the two, Dr. Strange seemed far more sure of himself, perhaps not quite used to the level of opulence of this particular evening, but confident enough at least to carry on a friendly conversation.

Dr. Quinzel, on the other hand, would probably have been far more comfortable in a lab coat analyzing a patient than anywhere near a gathering like this that found her sipping champagne and making small talk with _the _Bruce Wayne.

He plastered on his best vacant grin, deciding they'd view him as less of a threat if he played up the absent billionaire. "Wait, so, your name is Strange _and_ you run an asylum? That's umm...kind of ironic."

The man grimaced slightly. Obviously he'd heard that one before. He'd probably had people making fun of his name all his life. Wanting to save the doctor from having to respond to the juvenile comment Bruce continued.

"So, exactly how are things in the Narrows these days?" This time he got the reaction, the doctor's eyes lighting up.

"Things are well, Mr. Wayne. Well, as good as can be expected. Thanks in no small part to you and your company of course." He gestured to Bruce and Lucius and took a sip from the champagne flute in his hand. "Arkham was certainly in chaos following the release of so many patients, but I think we're finally getting things operating smoothly again."

Bruce arched his eyebrow. "Me and my company?" His confusion turned rapidly to surprise when it was Lucius, not the doctor, who answered.

"You really ought to read your memos," he half chuckled, half scolded. "The Wayne Foundation provided Arkham Asylum with a grant over a year and a half ago to repair and update their facility. We figured it benefited Gotham if we helped prevent another escape like the one Dr. Crane allowed to happen."

Bruce nodded. Increased security in Arkham would mean a safer, more secure location to lock away the criminals he was sweeping up. It also raised several questions. Would he have access to their systems as Batman? Did the Wayne Foundation provide a similar grant to Gotham's aging Blackgate Prison? The questions would have to wait until later, at which point he'd also have to thank Lucius for having the foresight to take such actions.

Bruce noticed a knowing glint in the older man's eye but ignored it and turned back to the two doctors. "And how are the updates coming? I hope our money was put to good use."

"Oh, they've been put to very good use, Mister Wayne. Unfortunately, Arkham Asylum's very old and Dr. Crane really had let portions of it suffer. Several of the buildings had to be rewired and large sections of plumbing and ventilation had to be replaced in order for us to meet city code. We _have _been able to reinforce a great deal of the walls though and we've revised our procedures to prevent another security breach from occurring."

"So, security's been improved?"

"Yes, yes, of course. A portion of the grant included money earmarked specifically for security measures. We installed remote operated web cameras in most areas and have been fortunate to hire a larger and more experienced security staff." Strange shrugged. "We do what we can with the resources we're provided."

"You know, I've never been out to your hospital before," Bruce said. "Maybe I should come take a look sometime, see if there's anything else we can do." Bruce figured playing to his purse strings might open up some future doors to both he and Batman. He wasn't disappointed by Strange's response when the doctor smiled greedily and nodded.

"Arkham is where the Joker is being held isn't it?" Of course, Bruce already knew that, having been partially responsible for his incarceration, but hadn't checked on him in some time and was curious to hear about the madman from the two doctors.

"Yes he is. Probably our most infamous guest now that Carmine Falcone's in Blackgate. In fact, my colleague here," he said, motioning to the mousy woman at his side, "is responsible for his ongoing treatment." The small doctor looked up, her attention in the conversation noticeably increasing.

"And is he as crazy as they say he is?"

For the first time the female doctor spoke, cutting off Strange's response and surprising Bruce with the strength in her voice, her eyes hardening at the word crazy. "Mister J is very, very..._unique_. He's highly intelligent, extremely charismatic, fiercely motivated and can be almost single minded in accomplishing his goals, ready to resort to both violence and generosity to accomplish them..."

"Mister J?"

Dr. Quinzel rolled her eyes. "We try to refer to our patients using familiar terms," she explained, "rather than nicknames or titles. Since we don't know his given name and he has yet to share it with us we call him Mister J. It's a common way to help disassociate someone from an alter ego or persona they've taken on. Or to simply disconnect them from their previous lives." She smiled then, barely detectable. "It creates an atmosphere more conducive to treatment and self discovery for the patient."

"And you think that the Joker," Lucius asked, his eyebrows raised, "could be a persona that he's taken on?"

Strange opened his mouth to respond, but was again cut off by the small woman. She nodded. "It's possible. He's being very cooperative and we're always gaining new insights into his disorders. It's likely that there's layers of psychosis we need to peel back. Once we eventually fill in the gaps we may have a clearer picture of who the true person really is."

"So, you think that he can be cured?"

"Psychology is not an exact science and mental illness is not something that can simply be cured like any normal virus. It could take years of comprehensive treatment and therapy to even begin to scratch the surface, but he is a dynamic human being that deserves our help."

"C'mon, he killed people," Bruce scoffed. The incredulity in his voice wasn't fake. "Are you going to tell me he wasn't responsible? That you're not afraid of him?"

Dr. Quinzel dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand as though the entire concept was foreign. "He wouldn't hurt me," she said, her eyes softening. "Yes, he did kill people, but responsibility at this point is inconclusive. Granted, it's not meant to defend his actions, but for all we know he could be a victim in this too."

At the mention of the Joker as a victim Strange seemed to realize the uncomfortable direction the conversation had taken between his chief therapist and two of his largest financial supporters and quickly stepped in, interrupting his colleague.

"Yes, it's very fascinating work. Doctor Quinzel is actually working to publish a paper on the subject," he said, before chuckling nervously. "I just wish she'd give the rest of our patients the kind of attention she affords our little celebrity." He turned to the shorter woman, not bothering to hide the glare he was sending her. "_Doctor_, I'm sure Mister Wayne and Mister Fox have better things to do than talk to us all night about our patients. Let's not take up _all _their time."

Surprisingly, she returned her superior's withering look, staring defiantly up at him. Gone was the nervous, reserved little woman that they'd been introduced too, obviously having not appreciated the quick dismissal. For his part, Dr. Strange seemed taken aback by her glare as well, but adamantly refused to back down.

And then she smiled.

It was a small smile, the corners of her lips barely perking up, but the malevolence it contained as she glared at him clearly stunned the taller man. The soft, hesitant look her eyes had contained was turned to fire, hardening them in twisted glee.

"Certainly, _Doctor_," she said through gritted teeth and one creepy little smile.

Finally, hesitantly she turned back towards Bruce, the glow still very evident in her eyes.

"Thank you for the lovely evening, Mister Wayne." She turned to Lucius. "Mister Fox." She nodded her head once, quickly, and then turned on her heal and stomped away, towards the nearest exit.

The three men watched after her, Dr. Strange shaking his head and very obviously struggling to keep a genial facade in place in front of the two wealthy men. He turned back to Bruce, plastering an apologetic but strained smile on his face in the process. "I truly do hope you'll come visit us sometime, Mister Wayne. I'd be more than happy to give you a tour personally." He hurriedly shook Bruce's hand and turned to Lucius, quickly shaking his as well. "Until then, if you'll excuse me gentlemen." Strange gave them a last little half bow before hurrying after his quietly fuming colleague.

Bruce and Fox silently watched him leave.

"Well, you certainly know how to liven up an evening, Lucius."

The older man smiled. "I do what I can Mister Wayne. I do what I can," he said, looking back towards the doorway the two doctors had exited through. "Although I'm not entirely sure what just happened."

"I don't know. Something that might be worth keeping an eye on?" Bruce asked, more a question to himself than to Lucius. The Joker had manipulated and twisted people before. It wouldn't be out of character.

For his part Fox remained silent, deep in thought, both of them now turned and looking blankly over the crowd. After a moment of quiet Bruce remembered the line of questioning he had for his friend from earlier. "So, when were you going to tell me about Arkham?"

Fox smiled, still looking at the crowd. "I didn't expect I'd have to. Imagine my surprise when you didn't beat me to it. You must be slipping, Mister Wayne."

"And Blackgate?"

"The same. In fact we were able to..."

Lucius never got the opportunity to finish his thought.

"Bruce Wayne!"

Bruce rolled his eyes at the unwelcome interruption and at the person behind the instantly recognizable voice, looking to his right to find Brandon Thorne rapidly approaching.

Vice President of Thorne Construction, Brandon had personally chosen himself to oversee the construction of the pediatrics wing after winning the bidding war. Headaches and daily interruptions had commenced shortly thereafter for all involved.

Son of Rupert Thorne, CEO of Thorne Industries, Brandon had been specifically placed to minimize his involvement in his father's empire, his father fearing for his company's financial well being should his youngest son gain any real power. The elder Thorne contented himself in the knowledge that Brandon could only effect his contracting firm's bottom line...and the Wayne Foundation's new child care unit.

"Brandon." Bruce allowed himself a brief pleasantry, quickly shaking the other man's hand. Gesturing to the ongoing party around them he continued. "I hope to attend one of these for our own little project in a couple months."

Thorne balked, obviously uncertain as to how to answer the innocent statement. "Listen, Mister Wayne, you know a lot goes into projects of this...scale. That's why I wanted to come over here and talk to you." He paused nervously and absently played with the knot of his tie. "You see, there's bound to be certain setbacks and unforeseen hurdles..."

"And what hurdles," Lucius asked, "have managed to trip up Thorne Construction this time?"

Thorne was clearly taken aback by the older man's question and tone, stuttering something about timing and schedules between the concrete curing and the steel framework. Fox, for his part was looking completely unamused by the current turn in the conversation. Having to deal personally with his excuses and failings on a near daily basis Lucious was clearly over being patient with the man.

Bruce, for his part, was largely ignoring the ongoing debate and was instead watching over Brandon's shoulder at the beautiful, dark haired woman that was striding up to his side.

Bruce Wayne didn't stare at just _any_ woman. He was _Bruce Wayne_ after all. He was here with someone who was simultaneously a Billboard top ten recording artist and one of Maxim's twenty-five sexiest. Women practically flocked to him.

But, here he was. Staring. Intently.

The woman was tall, probably only a couple inches under six feet in her heels, her flawless face barely touched by makeup and framed by closely cropped black hair. Dressed in a shoulder-less black dress that adhered to her athletic curves and flowed to her ankles, her stride exposing long, athletic legs through the long slit traveling up its side. Black, elbow length gloves that clung to slender, toned arms completed the stylish ensemble and was tastefully adorned with simple, glittering jewelry.

She had an air about her, a grace and confidence that most people in this crowd lacked. It was a sureness in herself, in her own abilities. It was a confidence that Bruce was sure he shared when he wasn't acting his part.

She slid next to Thorne quietly, startling him when she threaded her arm through his and comically looking down at him, a slight smile on her face when he jumped and half turned towards her. Brandon shot her an apologetic look, slightly tilting his head and shrugging before she finally turned to face Bruce.

He was met with a pair of beautiful, alert green eyes. The woman seemed to take in Bruce, analyzing him, her eyes softening and dancing with intelligence and humor for a brief moment before the ongoing conversation between Fox and Thorne hardened them again. She tugged slightly at her beau's arm, drawing his attention to her again.

"Sorry babe. I really gotta talk to Mister Fox about this. I know, I said no business tonight, but I only need five minutes and I'll be done. Promise."

She glared at him. A look full of irritation and well contained anger, passion flaring briefly through her eyes. It was lucky Brandon wasn't paying attention to the beauty because, had he been, he'd undoubtedly have been skewered by the daggers she was throwing his way.

After several seconds of being ignored the woman rolled her eyes and released a sigh, removing her hand from Thorne's arm and finally looking back to Bruce. "So, what's your story?" she asked, her words laced with sarcasm and annoyance.

"Sorry?" he replied. He'd been paying attention to her, but still managed to be taken slightly off guard by the directness of her question. No pleasantries. No introductions. Apparently not the usual haughty, pretentious type that lived for the stilted, empty conversations that he always seemed to get dragged into.

"Boy, that prep school money _really _went to waste, didn't it?" She rolled her eyes again exaggeratedly, this time at Bruce. "Okay, little words." Leaning condescendingly towards him, she made sure to clearly enunciate each word. "I can either pretend to be interested in them," she flicked her head to where Lucius and Thorne were deep in conversation, oblivious of the two of them, "or I can pretend to be interested in you. Thankfully, you're at least easy on the eyes," she said, shrugging indifferently.

"I guess I should be happy to be useful." Bruce grinned.

Far from being insulted, he was actually pleasantly surprised at her reaction. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been ignored, much less the last time he'd gone unrecognized. Probably not since he'd gone to Hong Kong on an errand for Harvey Dent. Anonymity was refreshing from the usual fawning he immediately elicited from everyone he met.

"Not from around here are you?"

That caught her slightly off guard. Judging by the confused look on her face the question combined with Bruce's knowing smirk had thrown her a little. She was slow to respond, her eyes narrowing and brow furrowing in response. "How'd you know that?"

Bruce shrugged nonchalantly. "Let's just say I'm fairly recognizable in Gotham." It was the truth. In Gotham, his likeness was plastered in the papers and on television pretty much weekly. You'd practically have to be a shut-in to be from this city and not know his face.

"Well, apparently _someone's_ got a bit of an ego." The mocking look and condescending tone were back in full force. "Must come with the trust fund."

Apparently she believed his claim though. Despite her words she was looking him up and down again, her eyes sharp, slowly and appraisingly taking in every detail while she unsuccessfully tried to figure out why she should know him.

Her smile didn't fade, but her eyes hardened noticeably in frustration when her analysis didn't provide her with an answer.

Bruce nodded in agreement at her jab, schooling his features to feign seriousness. "It comes along with the sense of entitlement," he replied.

The corner of her lip twitched, the faintest hint of a smile threatening to spread across her face. "You're not going to tell me who you are, are you?"

Bruce held up his hands in apology. "Sorry," he chuckled, making a game of it. "Guess it's just nice to enjoy some anonymity for once. Don't suppose you're going to tell me your name either then?"

"You're not the only one who enjoys a little mystery," she said, smiling knowingly at him. As to what secret information she was smiling about, Bruce hadn't a clue. Not that he'd mind finding out.

"Fair enough." He shrugged slightly in acceptance. If he was going to enjoy a conversation not predicated on him being _the_ Bruce Wayne then who was he to say he couldn't afford her the same luxury.

He really did want to know her name though.

Bruce could always ask Brandon about it later. He was pretty sure she'd be asking Thorne the same question about him the minute this little exchange had ended.

"What brings you to our charming little city?"

Her little smirk stayed on her face. "Oh, you know...a little bit of business...little bit of pleasure. _Lots_ of...opportunities in a town like this for a clever girl like me. Besides, I hear you guys throw some great parties," she said, raising her glass to indicate the surrounding room and throngs of expensively appointed guests.

"And here I pictured you as the starry eyed country girl trying to make it big," Bruce said, smirking at the woman. "You know, seeing the big city lights for the first time, naive and innocent."

She actually snorted in response, muffling a laugh. It was a sound that was as foreign to this crowd as it was refreshing to Bruce's ears.

"I don't think I've ever been accused of being innocent before," she responded. For the last several words her voice dropped to a husky whisper, accompanied by a seductive little smile, her emerald eyes flashing with dark humor. "Usually it's quite the opposite actually."

Bruce felt the warmth start at the base of his neck and spread quickly as the flush worked its way upwards. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Brandon hadn't reacted to what she'd said, or more importantly, how she'd said it. Thankfully, he still wasn't paying attention to the two of them, his attention solely focused on a rather irritated looking Lucious Fox. Bruce was happy to avoid the added annoyance of a jealous boyfriend tonight...or whatever he was to her.

He allowed himself to chuckle as he put one hand in his pocket, gesturing to her with the one holding the champagne flute. "You're going to be right at home then here in Gotham," he said, sneaking another look at Brandon Thorne, whose father had a long history of shady dealings with questionable people, "and with this crowd."

She hadn't missed the look, following his eyes and glancing at Brandon herself.

"So, what does that make you? The only honest man in Gotham City?" she asked. Despite the accusations in her words, the voice that carried them carried surprisingly little venom. Just curiosity and the touch of dark humor and sarcasm nearly everything she said was laced with.

He let out a sharp snort at that. If she only knew. "Hardly. Maybe I'm just someone that hopes he can make a difference."

"What!" the woman said, feigning shock, even going so far as to put one hand to her chest in mock surprise. "An idealist? In Gotham City? Heh, bet that's kind of a dying breed." She looked around them again at the crowd, pointedly including Thorne in her gaze. "And here I was thinking you were just another one of the idle rich."

Bruce blinked. She'd quickly looked at Brandon when she'd said the last part, derision clear in her tone. Who was she to him? He'd called her "babe" when she'd first arrived and Bruce had assumed that they were romantically involved, but she'd exhibited no signs of even really liking the man at this point. Intriguing.

"What? Not a fan of being lazy?"

She laughed lightly, an easy, attractive sound that was easy on the ears, and shook her head back and forth. "God no. I've always gotten bored really easily." She took a slight step closer to him, cocking her head to look up at him and again breaking out the thin, sexy smile that sent a jolt up his spine. "What good is living your life without a little danger? Without a little fun and thrills?" She followed the last part with a small wink.

Bruce looked down, unwilling to meet her gaze, but fighting to remain nonchalant. He was supposed to be the womanizer, dammit. He wasn't supposed to get fidgety from some stranger's wink and a smile.

"Funny. I wouldn't have made you for a thrill seeker. Maybe a few speeding tickets, sure." He narrowed his eyes and exaggeratedly looked her over, head to toe again, making sure to skip making eye contact, for now. "Hard to see you as an adrenaline junkie though. You clean up well." He pretended to look her over again. "Sure blend in well with the...," Bruce eyed the crowd around them, full of the upper crust of Gotham, "well...with them." The mystery woman followed his look, smiling as she got his meaning, her eyes crinkling in amusement.

"I guess the same could be said for you. Since you don't seem to include yourself in their illustrious company." She stepped back to analyze him once again, disappointing Bruce at the added gap between them. "I wonder why that is? You've certainly got the look down," she said, reaching out to pinch the material of his tuxedo's jacket between her fingers. "Armani?" Bruce nodded, amused. "Very nice. Good tailoring."

She reached out again, this time taking his left arm and holding it up playfully in the light to get a better look at his wrist.

Bruce immediately felt the heat on his skin, even through her soft gloves. The warmth on his neck started again as the skin on his arm felt charged. He started, suddenly realizing he'd missed her next question, vacantly staring at her as he enjoyed the electric sensations traveling up his left arm.

Just when the hell had he reverted to his pre-adolescent days anyways? He shook his head slightly and blinked.

"Rolex?" Luckily she'd repeated it again, smiling up at him and at the very obvious distraction she'd caused.

"Oh! Um...Breitling." She smiled triumphantly at his answer, her point proven. She seemed to be waiting for his comeback, head tilted and arms crossed, delicately holding her champagne flute in her right hand.

Bruce blasted her with the full wattage of his smile. "And what brand is that trash bag you're wearing?" he asked innocently.

"This old thing?" The woman spread her arms and looked down at her dress theatrically before looking up to meet his gaze, smiling when she saw that his eyes had followed hers down...and lingered. "Oh, don't get me wrong. I enjoy my creature comforts as much as the next girl. I just can't handle _their _silliness for more than an hour or two. Eventually it just gets to the point where you want to scream at them."

Bruce grinned. If she only knew who she was talking to, he was sure she'd be disgusted. Bruce Wayne, or rather the caricature he presented to the public, was undoubtedly the crown prince of the idle rich and pompous.

"I don't know how you grin and bear it," she said "You obviously come to a lot of these things, right?"

He'd accepted the irritating parts of living a double life a long time ago. Oddly enough, the discomfort of hunting criminals or suffering from a lack of sleep paled in comparison to attending many of the functions he felt his celebrity forced upon him.

He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "A lot more then I'd like. Pretty much all of them, I guess_. _I have to make an appearance though."

"Oh, right...you're famous _and_ important," she said derisively, rolling her eyes. "I'd _almost _forgotten."

Bruce grinned. "I heard the trick is figuring out how to get off their mailing list."

The corner of her lip twitched upward, back into her seductive little half smile. "They _can _be persistent, can't they?" she said, nodding playfully. "Must see dollar signs when they look at you or something. I wouldn't worry though. I'm sure you'll come up with a way out." She cocked her head to the side playfully so she could look at him out of the corner of her eye. "Better make it something big too"

Bruce smiled wickedly. She'd given him an opening to drop one hell of a hint towards his identity. Time to see if she could put the pieces together. "Already tried insulting them and burning my house down," Bruce mused absently. "It didn't work. I don't suppose you have any better ideas?"

Her own smiled faltered in her puzzlement. "That was...strangely specific. Why would..." She trailed off, her eyes widening and flickering briefly with recognition when she realized he was being serious. The woman stared at him for a moment, as if she was shuffling through her memories and trying vainly to place the infamous event.

She still didn't recognize Bruce Wayne.

Although it was national news, the razing of Wayne Manor had likely been little more than a punchline everywhere but in the Gotham City area. Most people across the country just got a small laugh at the expense of the rich man who stupidly burned down tens of millions of dollars and then continued going about their lives.

"Wow, um...no. That's...tough to beat," she said, laughing lightly once she saw the clear amusement on his face and the sheer ridiculousness of what he'd just admitted to. She stopped to take another sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving his. "And the riddle continues."

Bruce shrugged. "I aim to please."

"And what does a fabulously wealthy and famous young man like yourself do exactly?"

"Oh, about what you'd expect. Buy stuff that isn't for sale, make people do inappropriate things to gain your favor, brag about the private islands we own..." She laughed loudly as he ticked off the the last point. A full, hearty laugh that made her eyes dance and crinkle in amusement.

"Brandon likes to talk about that little piece of rock he has down in Mexico, doesn't he?" Bruce asked.

"In detail." She was still smiling widely, a feature that he found disarmingly attractive.

"Well, the weather _is _supposed to be nice this time of year."

"Is it now? Good to know," she said, nodding her head sarcastically.

She seemed to be looking at Bruce differently now. As their interaction had progressed she'd lost the predatory, almost confrontational look in her eyes. Bruce much preferred the humor and sarcasm that seemed to dance over her soft features. She had a wit and intelligence that he could appreciate. Attributes that could be rare commodities in this crowd.

"So you and Brandon..."

"Selina?"

Thorne's sudden question caused them both to jerk their heads. The woman, Selina, rolled her eyes and released a very dramatic sigh, obviously annoyed with the interruption.

Brandon was looking angrily at her, obviously upset at whatever he and Fox had had it out over and also obviously intent on beating a hasty escape to get away from Lucious and Bruce as quickly as possible.

She looked back to Bruce and held out her hand, allowing the frown she'd shot Thorne to morph back into her slight smile. "Game's over I guess. I'm Selina. Selina Kyle."

He clasped her gloved fingers softly and shook her hand. "Bruce Wayne."

"Well, well, well...," she practically purred, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead and her grin growing markedly. "How very, _very _interesting." She laughed loudly, indifferent to the looks from several people around them. "And the pieces fall into place." She let her hand linger in his a second longer than was probably decent, all things considering. "I suppose that puts some things in a new light."

Brandon Thorne hadn't missed the extended handshake. The scowl on his face deepened as he glanced back and forth between Bruce and Selina, no longer oblivious to the flirtatious little smiles both were sporting.

"C'mon Selina," he said, tugging on her arm. She held Bruce's gaze a moment more before allowing the silently seething Thorne to lead her away.

Fox, for his part, was watching Bruce and Selina's banter out of the corner of his eye, an amused smile gracing his lips. The man always had been perceptive.

"Good evening, Miss Kyle." The flinch in Thorne's already tense shoulders was noticeable.

Selina half turned back towards him and winked, her lip curling up into a predatory grin. "Oh, the pleasure was all mine, Mister Wayne."

Bruce watched her go, to the continued amusement of Lucius, weaving gracefully through the crowd, her right arm wrapped back around Thorne's. He liked to think the exaggerated sway in her hips was for his benefit though.

"Good night, Mister Wayne?"

Bruce glanced to his left to see Lucius grinning at him good-naturedly before he turned back the way Selina and Brandon had left. He paused before a small smile slowly appeared on his face.

"Yeah. Not a bad night after all," Bruce said, still facing the exit.

It wouldn't last. Bruce was sure there was a law of nature that would inevitably force him into spending an excessive amount of time with those he could stand the least. At the least it always seemed to prevent him from making an early escape from these functions he felt forced to attend.

Right on time the proverbial wet towel was thrown on his evening once again.

"Brucie! There you are!" He outwardly cringed, unable to hide the sigh that escaped his lips.

His date from earlier in the evening finally caught up with him, apparently finally growing tired of holding court in front of the fawning masses.

The night _had_ been going so well too.

"I've been looking _all _over for you!" she said, theatrically waving her hands around to include the entire ballroom. "Come on. I want to get our picture taken!" She threaded her arm through his and pulled him back into the mass of people.

* * *

><p>AN: Plot wise I felt last chapter was a bit of a gamble. This chapter I thought characterization was a challenge for me, especially Selina. Trying to write her as confident, sarcastic, sexy woman who is absolutely clueless about Bruce Wayne's identity was trying. I had to work at it. I really wanted to give her the chance to form an opinion of him without his persona coming into play and that really shaped the dialogue. I hope I was successful, but am really interested to see what everyone thinks.

Here come a few more familiar characters! Keep in mind, not everyone will be integral to the storyline though. Hugo Strange is a great example. I needed someone to take Crane's place as director of Arkham. He made more sense to me than an original character or an Arkham family member so I went with it...that doesn't mean he won't reappear though. I don't want to do cameos for nothing more than to have a cameo.

As always, very interested to hear back from everyone. Please leave a review, advice...anything. I really soak it all up. Too many new characters? Did I do them justice? Let me know.


	5. Chapter 5

So, the awesome _Second Star on the Left _let me know that Lucius has no "o" in it. I had been spelling it incorrectly as Lucious. After I was done facepalming myself for such a dumb oversight I decided to go back and take care of that. When I updated with this chapter I also went back and corrected every previous chapter as well. Thanks for the heads up!

Here comes the action.

A/N: I do not own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics

* * *

><p>Hypnotic green eyes stared out at him in the night sky, crinkling softly at the corners in humor...<p>

Bruce shook his head, banishing the thought from his mind before it was even complete. Now was not the time to be thinking about the mysterious woman he'd met several evenings ago.

Not while he was trying to listen in on several conversations at once.

_Certainly _not while he was perched seventeen floors above the roof of O'Grady's Pub.

Settling back into the shadows provided by the fascia of the building he cycled again through the separate audio surveillance instruments he had in place, adjusting the small control on his wrist and continuing to listen intently for any useful bits of information he could act upon.

Progress had been slow in the last week. Both the Vargas murder and the Robinson Park Massacre had yielded no new leads. It was frustrating, and Bruce had begun to feel the anxiety he always felt when he was powerless.

The red strand of hair recovered in Arthur Vargas' apartment had been synthetic. A wig. Made wholly from organic materials. Bruce had Alfred out hunting for every red headed wig he could find in the hope that they could match the fiber to the correct wig and start the hunt from there. Unfortunately that would take time.

A lot of time.

Thus far no other murders that fit the modus operandi of the councilman's killer had turned up and no motive had been discovered. It meant that the murder could have been simply a crime of passion or one done in the moment. A first timer, someone who may never repeat their crime.

That made the brutal killings at the birthday party the pressing problem.

Unfortunately, Marko Kazan had disappeared.

Being hunted by two separate crime families, the police, and possibly an unknown third party that was working to frame him had driven him underground.

In four nights of concentrated searching and questioning Bruce had been unable to uncover his current location. The closest he'd come was an apartment that he'd used four days previous.

So, now he was focused on the other families. The more visible ones. Families who had no reason to be in hiding.

Yet.

Bruce was spying on them, alternating between their well known hangouts at random, hoping to steal some inside information that could prove useful in either finding Kazan or the true murderer.

Tonight was O'Grady's. Favorite watering hole of Sean Riley's eldest son, Ian. His primary target wasn't in at the moment but Bruce was content to cycle between the conversation going on at a drunken poker game in the backroom and some small talk between the bartender and one of Ian Riley's top lieutenants.

At least the event in question had come up tonight. Bruce had been listening solely to the bartender's conversation for five minutes now, focusing on it after the poker game had devolved into a drunken shouting match.

The two men had been reminiscing for the better part of the last half hour. From their conversation it was clear that both men's families had been a part of the mob's world for quite some time, going back several generations.

"I tell you there ain't no honor anymore around here. Not like when my dad was younger. Not like there still should be. Seriously, who goes after kids?" said the gruff voice of subject number one. The bartender.

"Fucked up psychos, that's who. Those damn Ukrainians have always been sick." A pause before Bruce heard the thunk of a glass being placed back on the bar. Apparently his own misgivings regarding the attackers hadn't been shared by Sean Riley. The Odessa family had been blamed. "Have you seen some of those girls they bring in? Sick. We shoulda' done everyone a favor and taken them out a long time ago."

"Yeah. Seems like killin' little girls is a good way to make that happen though. That whole group's in the crosshairs now. Ain't nothing they can do now but run and die."

"Don't see why that means we have to make friendly with the Italians. I don't wish dead kids on anybody, but it's not our problem," said the second man. Another pause, probably taking another long swig of his drink. "We go from killin' em to helpin' em, all because a few people get shot. It don't make sense to me."

"Not for you to question. Figure the bosses want to ease some tensions or somethin'. Sides, not like they're makin' you work together. Riley's just sendin' this Riddler guy after Kazan to make the Italians happy."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. A new name, undoubtedly a moniker, but something Bruce could follow up on. Nobody going by the nickname "Riddler" had done anything of note in Gotham since the Batman had shown up. Somebody from out of town maybe? From the conversation, he sounded like either a hitman or an assassin and Sean Riley had tight connections with the Irish families in Boston. Maybe he could check the nickname against police reports from that area.

"What's with that nickname anyway? Riddler? What the hell is that?" A loud crack squealed over the headset as he slammed his glass on the counter. "Christ! I don't trust outsiders. They got no freakin' loyalty to us." The man had been slowly growing more and more inebriated as the conversation progressed, subtly slurring some words. Whatever he was drinking, it was strong. "Makes me glad Ian's gonna burn the storage yards tonight. Show this damn new guy that we don't need his help. That we got this!"

Bruce's head jumped, his eyes widening as their continued conversation fell on unhearing ears. Tonight.

He shifted and looked north, towards the Jerold neighborhoods for the telltale glow. Nothing. Just the low hanging clouds and dark sky, the taller buildings glowing subtly in the distance.

They hadn't mentioned a time. Maybe it hadn't happened yet?

Bruce quickly flicked off the audio feeds and stepped off the edge of the building, plummeting downward. He grasped the edges of the fabric and deployed the cape at the last possible moment in order to slow his descent, settling softly to the pavement.

How had he managed to miss something like this?

Of course, the rational part of Bruce could pinpoint the probable cause, but his pride sometimes got in the way of his brain.

The problem wasn't a lack of information, it was actually the opposite. He was being swamped by a torrent of audio and visual recordings from Batman's dozens of listening posts and planted devices in addition to the usual law enforcement bulletins, alerts, and forensics reports. The computers did what they could to scan for key phrases and words or process for facial recognition but there was still far too much raw data for one man to sift through, especially when being Batman couldn't be a full time job.

It was becoming clear that things were starting to slip through the cracks.

He strode purposefully down the darkened back street and towards an open dumpster behind which he'd stashed the Pod, just outside the closed door of a neighborhood market. The vehicle roared to life as Bruce mounted it, sliding into its harness and pumping the throttle. Its tires spun in response, squealing against the asphalt and sending a couple pieces of refuse skittering away before pulling out into the alley, rapidly picking up speed as it headed for East 81st Street.

The Pod had been a last minute decision, one he was grateful for now that the added speed and firepower might be more useful than the stealth and anonymity the SUV would have provided.

Clicking over to the police band he sped towards the Monchant Bridge, the ancient concrete and steel monolith that spanned the Monchant Channel and that would connect him with the Jerold section of Gotham.

He leaned down, pressing himself into the frame and trying to encourage every last drop of speed out of the already straining vehicle.

* * *

><p>Minutes later Bruce was mere blocks away, careening down a series of tight, deserted side streets. The distant crack of small arms fire had begun moments earlier, but the radio was still quiet, absent any chatter signaling a reaction by either the police or fire department.<p>

Judging by the growing intensity of the volume of fire somewhere in front of him, that would likely change though.

The time for stealth was over. He'd have to resort to surprise and violence of action rather than the normally carefully planned operations he usually preferred.

Bruce toggled a switch with his right thumb, arming the Pod's weapons and angled for the nearest access into the yard, tilting over precariously on the edge of the giant tires.

Two sharp corners later and he was met with the rapidly growing gate that marked the southwest entrance of Kazan's storage facility.

The first two 40mm grenades hit the reinforced steel gates dead center, the high explosive rounds sending the two halves spinning away back into the yard, cartwheeling in a tangle of broken metal.

The two forward mounted cannons barked again and two more rounds arced out, impacting the two vehicles parked beyond the smoldering gate, meant to further block the entry from outside interference. The back ends of the sedans exploded in a shower of sparks and fire, sending one flipping end over end away to the left, debris littering the asphalt. Before the smoke and debris had cleared Bruce plowed through the gap they'd left, steering towards the loudest concentrations of gunfire and hoping he hadn't arrived too late.

He needed a plan. Despite the protection his suit afforded him it would do him no good to drive directly into the fight on the unarmored Pod. He needed to gain altitude. Once up high he'd be able to get a better sense of the terrain and the placement of enemies so he could strike from above.

Ahead and to his right the skeletal structure of one of the yard's giant shipping cranes was visible, looming out of the low mist that hung over the city.

It wouldn't provide a great deal of cover, but it would do. If he'd learned one thing as a costumed vigilante it was that bad guys seldom looked up when looking for trouble.

Bruce pulled the grapple gun from his lower back smoothly, aimed, and fired, sending out a high tensile line with a small puff of compressed air. As soon as the barbed tip was secure on one of the steel trusses he activated the high speed winch and was yanked forward and upward, the Pod gradually slowed to a stop below him at the loss of its driver's weight.

It was precarious, little more than a catwalk between some steel supporting trusses, but it provided a great view. From his vantage point atop the long, thin arm of the crane Bruce had an excellent vantage point over the ongoing gunfight, blocked only occasionally by the bulk of the metal containers.  
>He was close enough that he could pick out most of the running and crouching figures involved, easily picking out their motions against the otherwise still backdrop.<p>

The battle raged below him, muzzle flashes and tracers flashing back and forth almost rhythmically. Quick yells and curses were sometimes audible, barely, drowned out in the sharp cracks that overlapped each other and seemed to fill the air.

The yard below him was fairly well lit, large overhead lights glowing and flooding the area with an even yellow-white light. Likely so that loading and unloading could occur at any hour of the day...or night. It would present a problem, but it would also mean deep shadows and thus far nobody seemed to have been alerted to his presence.

At least two men were down already, status uncertain, but obviously hurt. One wasn't moving at all.

He couldn't concern himself with them for now.

Below was a maze of the large, corrugated shipping containers stacked two or three tall, much like Falcone's had been on the night the Batman had first appeared years ago. He'd used the tight turns and fear of the unknown then and he could do it again now.

The first problem would be to distract them though this time, otherwise they'd just keep killing each other, and god knows who else, before he could get to all of them.

The two sides were fairly spread out, still content to stay back and try to pound away at each other at distance. Neither group had forces with the training or skill to mount a concerted and coordinated attack, much less something more sophisticated. It meant that most of the mob gunmen were either operating alone or in small groups.

Another advantage for him.

Bruce extracted the pieces for the sticky-bomb launcher and quickly clicked them into place, pumping the gun to load the first round. Setting the dial for thirty seconds he sighted down the barrel and squeezed the trigger, firing two of the gel coated devices at a distant parked forklift.

Resetting the dial for one minute he repeated himself, firing another pair of explosives, this time at a gathering of discarded oil drums.

Half a dozen more times he quickly repeated the process, each time increasing the timers by another thirty seconds before firing the launcher.

With the timer for the first set of bombs about to reach zero Bruce quickly broke the weapon back down and placed it back in its harness, shakily standing up as best he could given the precarious footing.

The timer hit five seconds and Bruce jumped, free falling for a split second before extending his cape and angling to the left, circling slowly downward.

The first explosion detonated, flashing red-orange against the night sky and booming across the storage yard, sending pieces of the lifter arcing into the air. The gunfire momentarily dissipated as most of the participants, surprised by the sudden flash and roar, turned to view the quickly disappearing ball of flame that was easily visible over the stacks of containers.

With their backs turned, Bruce struck.

Letting the air empty out of his cape he dove.

The closest shooter, a skinny Irishman in a dirty green hoodie and jeans, was just turning towards him when he was speared at full speed by Bruce's shoulder. Using his entire body's momentum from the fall to drive through the surprised mobster the two were carried almost thirty feet before the smaller man was hammered into the ground.

Allowing the first target to absorb the brunt of the impact Bruce immediately rolled to the side, leaving the man groaning and holding his ribs in pain.

He rose to his feet in front of two very surprised Ukrainians, their terrified eyes bulging in their sockets.

The bearded man on the right reacted first, cursing and bringing up a small submachine gun. Bruce pivoted, bringing his knee up hard into the back of the man's thigh, buckling his leg and causing the gun to shift up and away from its intended target.

At the same time he grabbed the second man's wrist and twisted down, using the leverage to force him unceremoniously to his knees.

Bruce spun back, swiftly shifting attention to the first man who was by now trying to regain his feet. The light in his eyes flickered out when Bruce's elbow came down into the base of the bearded man's neck, letting him go down to the pavement in a heap. He'd never released the wrist of the second man.

He twisted again, making the man howl painfully before bringing his right knee up into his face, ending his night for good.

The second explosion went off before Bruce had the opportunity to ensure all three targets were out of action. The next distraction. He'd have to forget securing them for the time being and move quickly if he was to get to the next group in thirty seconds. He couldn't afford to fall too far behind.

Scrambling as quietly as possible up a shipping container he saw his next objective looking away, towards where the last two charges had been, that portion of the night sky still glowing, reflecting ominously off the low hanging mist. He wouldn't stay that way for long.

Covering the thirty feet at a sprint, his feet lightly slapping the ground as he moved, he arrived just as the man seemed to sense the danger.

Turning his head to look back over his shoulder his eyes widened comically at the black figure rapidly approaching him, his body frozen in surprise. Finally, seeming to snap back to reality and realizing the threat he tried vainly to turn and bring his firearm to bear.

Bruce caught the shotgun in both hands as it swung around and pushed it hard, causing the stock to ram into the man's shoulder and forcing him to grunt, loosening his grip unintentionally. With the lessened tension on the weapon Bruce brought the barrel up, pointing it at the sky before violently yanking it from the recovering man's hands. In complete control of the pump action now Bruce jabbed back with the gun, striking the Ukrainian in the nose with the metal receiver and knocking him out cold.

He discarded the shotgun off to the side, tossing it into the shadows where it would be out of sight and out of reach of the downed man. He needed to move again. There were only seconds left before another set of charges went off and he needed to move into position to take on the next small group of men when it did.

By the time the fifth pair of explosions shook the container yard the element of surprise had disappeared completely. The remaining mafia members knew something was up, the explosions that had been yanking their attention one way after another were too regular, too precise.

Add in the dwindling amount of gunplay going on among the jumble of large storage bins and they knew something was up.

It wouldn't stop him, but it would make things trickier.

Bruce stood up after securing his latest victim, stifling a groan from the bumps and bruises that he was already beginning to feel now that his initial rush of adrenaline was passing.

The man had allowed himself to get separated and fled, proving to be easy pickings when he'd run pretty much directly into Bruce's waiting ambush.

He twisted his neck to the left and right, hearing a small crack as he stretched his protesting muscles. Someone one of the goons had managed to find a heavy steel chain and then made solid contact with the joint at Bruce's shoulder while he'd been busy disarming the man's cohort.

That one was really going to hurt tomorrow.

The immediate area was clear of hostiles and eerily silent at the moment. He could still make out an occasional gunshot or shouted curse, but the men he was tracking were being smarter.

That brought him to his next problem.

In his haste to enter the fray Bruce hadn't posted any remote cameras on the crane he'd originally used as his vantage point. The locations he'd memorized at the time were almost certainly empty now that both sides knew they were under attack from a hidden enemy.

At this point he couldn't be certain where anyone was in the maze of corrugated steel and he couldn't risk returning to his original elevated position.

He backed into the shadows, disappearing into the dimness as he began considering his options. He needed to take out some of the bright, overhead lights that bathed the entire yard in a sickly yellow glow. That would afford him the darkness that would put the advantage squarely back in his corner.

Bruce began drifting from shadow to shadow, moving carefully and quietly. Each foot placed delicately to produce almost inaudible noise, his ears straining to detect anything that could betray a hidden threat.

The most likely location for the light controls, or perhaps even a junction box, would be the repurposed mobile home that served as a small office nestled against the fence line on the far eastern edge of the facility. Which meant that he was currently heading away from the remnants of the battle and away from the Pod, his quickest means of escape.

The office complex was forty yards away, on the other side of several rows of shipping containers stacked two tall when Bruce began hearing the distinctive wail of sirens. He glanced down, checking the built in timer on the inside of his wrist. He'd been on site for almost nine minutes now. Too long. The GCPD would be speedily arriving, in force, to a reported gun battle. That meant SWAT and possibly canine units.

That also meant that those sirens were his signal to exit. Immediately.

Bruce ran, making hard for the southwest corner where he'd made his explosive entry only minutes before and where he'd left the monstrous motorcycle idling.

The Pod didn't have the onboard systems or computing power to operate remotely the way the Tumbler could, permitting only a homing device in its cramped frame to track its location. It meant that he'd have to get to it before the police did, not wishing to write off a key piece of his equipment.

He redoubled his pace, his black boots slapping against the ground rhythmically, the concern for stealth slackening with the growing necessity for speed and a hasty escape.

At least the GCPD could be counted on to be methodical. They'd clear the facility, moving inward from their arrival points at the west and north in a slow, orderly fashion to minimize risk, not knowing that at least two thirds of their targets had already been neutralized.

Luckily, nobody had seen the need to mobilize a chopper yet either. One of those would be tricky to evade at the moment.

"Alfred, are you on?" He knew he usually wore an earpiece when Bruce was out. He'd hear him. The more relevant question was how long it would take him to get to the cave.

"Yes sir." The reply was almost instantaneous, the refined English accent a jarring contrast to Bruce's winded growl. "I figured you might call, sir. If the police band is to be believed, it sounds like things are getting quite interesting."

"Yeah," Bruce whispered. "I need you to get thermals up. You should be able to direct me out of here."

This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Running from a fight. Running from the police. It may have been selfless to put himself in this situation, but that didn't mean he'd ever get used to the necessities it bred.

"Of course, sir." The sound of a keyboard being rapidly struck could be heard faintly of the open comms. "Working on it now."

Bruce pushed on, taking a slightly longer path to skirt the more open, well lit portions of the facility.

It would take time for Alfred to get things into position, hopefully the necessary detour wouldn't delay him too much.

The stacks of metal crates were tall here. Too tall to clamber up them quickly and quietly and too far away from the loading cranes or overhead lights for him to employ the grapple gun. He was stuck on the ground for now, with everyone else. Bruce moved forward, his back to the container, straining to hear above the dwindling sounds of gunfire and the new echoes of the police yelling for the Irish and Ukrainians to drop their weapons.

"Sir, overhead imaging will be active in thirty seconds. May I suggest you find a dark corner for the next half minute?"

"Can't, Alfred. I need to..."

It was just a tiny sound, something one would normally ignore under normal circumstances. Now, however, was not a normal circumstance. Even with the distant, yet ever present sirens and shouts it seemed to echo down the alleys formed by the metal containers.

Footsteps.

Definitely multiple people too judging by the cadence and regularity. They were moving softly and rhythmically, boots clicking on the asphalt in a very professional sounding pattern. They were also moving in his direction.

"Alfred, I've got a tactical team coming in my direction. Any chance you can provide me with an exit?"

"Still tracking. Oversight will be in position in twenty seconds now. I have no visual, sir," came Alfred's clipped reply.

He had only one decision available to him. Backtracking to gain twenty seconds would take him further away from his destination and his escape. If the police had already penetrated this far into the facility there was also no telling when they'd discover the Pod...or Bruce.

He also didn't want to fight the men. Confronting and possibly injuring police officers was not what he had in mind when he started his war on crime. Bruce had no desire to be caught and would probably resort to violence if it meant his escape, but he was hoping that point hadn't yet been reached.

So, he'd distract and confuse.

Bruce worked two compartments on his belt, producing six small, pronged pellets and edged closer to the intersection the police team was stealthily approaching. They'd be ready for action, acting on training and instinct at the slightest movement. Which meant Bruce had to be faster. He froze at the corner, straining to listen, mentally calculating the distances involved and the moment to act.

The footsteps were still moving at a constant pace. Thirty feet. Twenty.

At ten he acted, tossing the small spheres blindly around the corner to the surprised shouts of the SWAT team members.

The three small flash bombs went off first, producing a dazzlingly bright burst of light. They should briefly blind the targets, disrupting their vision enough to make any normal actions all but impossible. If they were wearing night vision equipment they'd be on the ground in pain.

The smoke grenades went off a moment later, quickly filling the alley with a choking white smoke.

Bruce pushed off from the container and darted around the corner. Three men, little more than silhouettes in the smoke, were stumbling around, waving their hands around drunkenly for anything familiar. Luckily they were well enough trained not to start firing blindly around them in their disorientation.

The fourth was writhing on the ground, his hand covering his eyes where the goggles he'd ripped off had been.

Bruce ducked between two of them, silently slipping through their midst and turned left down another hall of metal boxes.

Luckily, this aisle had one of the giant light posts in the center of it. One he could use to get back off the ground.

In seconds he was on top of the stack, crouched and tense and waiting for Alfred's direction. The smoke was already dissipating behind him and he could still hear the recovering men he'd passed. Besides them, he'd had no signs of anyone else nearby.

Hopefully from here on out he'd have a nice, clear path to his escape.

"Master Bruce?" His earpiece crackled to life. "It would seem that your presence has not gone unnoticed." There was an unmistakable hint of concern in the old man's words. "The call has gone out over the police radio. Apparently one of the men wasn't quite as blinded as you'd hoped."

"Thanks," Bruce replied. "Thermals?"

"Coming online now." He could hear more furious typing over the open comm as Alfred zeroed in on his position. "You're clear for thirty yards straight ahead. You may want to move quickly though, it seems our friendly boys in blue are being a bit overzealous this evening."

Bruce knew what that meant. At the mere mention of him being nearby every policeman in the city would be converging and much less wary of potential danger to themselves. Cop killers were not well liked, especially those that had managed to elude the police as long as Bruce had. They wanted blood, and the call going out over the radio was starting the feeding frenzy.

He sprinted over the tops of the shipping containers, trusting Alfred to be right about his path being clear. He reached the end of the row he was on and knelt, scanning the surroundings in the low light.

"Alfred?"

"Sir, your vehicle is on the far side of the two rows running perpendicular to you. Fifty yards."

"Opposition?" Bruce asked.

"Three teams of four closing, sir. One moving perpendicular towards your position while the other two are moving parallel to the south. About forty yards." Bruce looked to his left, to the south. Somewhere down in the canyons of metal were the two tactical teams, moving fast. "There also seems to be a team of dogs and their handlers following the closer set of signals." Bruce winced at the mention of dogs.

He really needed to pay Lucius a visit when he got out of this.

"Unfortunately, one of the teams may beat you to the Pod. Master Wayne, may I suggest speed is of the essence."

"Great," he muttered. Things were not going smoothly.

He needed to cover a hell of a distance in a short amount of time. Ordinarily that wouldn't have been a problem given his cape. Here though he didn't have the height to gain the lift he'd need for gliding. That left...

Bruce remembered where he'd left the pod originally, being jerked off of it when he'd shot upward toward...the crane.

He looked up. The silent metal skeleton was still there, half submerged in the increasingly dense mist. It would provide him with the height he'd need, again. He'd just have to take the chance that he'd be spotted.

The bullets began whizzing by as soon as he reached sixty feet. He could actually hear the tactical team's startled cry when he'd zipped over their heads suddenly. Luckily they hadn't been prepared and the gunfire had been short and imprecise.

At seventy feet he detached the cable and opened his cape, praying that he was high enough. For a heart stopping moment he thought he might not.

Bruce fell thirty feet before the fabric seemed to grab the air allowing him to rise back up, clawing for altitude.

The crackling sound of automatic weapons greeted him again, coming closer this time than he was comfortable with.

Bruce dove for the area Alfred had indicated, hoping he'd beat any pursuit there. Of course, he hadn't even begun to think about what would happen once he'd reached the Pod.

The police would be working to surround the yard now that they knew he was here. He could still be boxed in and absent the crushing strength of his car. The fact that the police seemed to be in a "shoot first, ask questions later" frame of mind wasn't helping anything either.

On both sides, flashing in and out of the shadows and light were figures, running after him, trying to train their weapons on him in the brief moments they saw him over the stacks or as he flashed by overhead.

This was going to be close.

Clearing the final row of containers Bruce searched the area, spotting the Pod in a far corner, facing away from him. At least in his haste to get here he'd left it heading in the right direction.

He'd need to time things right if he was to make it to the motorcycle and get it going in mere seconds. There really would be no room for errors. The telltale pop of a bullet zinging by overhead made that fact all too clear.

Bruce braced himself for the collision. He knew the Pod could take it, but he was sure his already aching body was going to pay for the rough landing he was about to put it through. As talented and accurate as he'd gotten with the cape he'd never actually had to literally drop himself into an idling vehicle. Probably something he should start seeing that quick escapes were becoming more and more the norm.

The small vehicle raced up to him as he dropped, looking far smaller and...sharper than he remembered it being. He could already see small chunks of concrete being gouged near the back tire as errant bullets began impacting the area.

He could also begin to hear his pursuers call for his surrender.

As they continued to pour fire in his direction.

He more hit the Pod than landed on it, slamming into into it at full speed. Pain raced up his right leg. He'd missed the rear foothold with it and it had unceremoniously smacked the unyielding pavement instead. Bruce grimaced momentarily as he slung it into place, the tires already squealing as he rammed the throttle full open. The grotesque motorcycle roared and darted away, already weaving into the next row of shipping crates.

"Although I am glad to see you're still safe the police have erected barricades at all the existing exits," came Alfred's voice in his ear.

"Well, I'll just have to make a new exit then," Bruce said. "Direct me to the nearest section of the perimeter. Preferably one with as few police as possible."

"Of course, sir," he said, a brief pause coming over the line as Alfred did as he was asked. "At the next intersection take a left, then turn right at the third intersection. That should avoid any entanglements and bring you to the exterior wall."

"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce said. He was already rolling the Pod on to its side, making the first turn at full speed. "I think I'm just going to head for the bunker tonight. No sense risking running into any unforeseen problems on the way home."

"Probably wise, Master Wayne."

Bruce made the second turn, smacking the steel walls with the back tire as he skidded around towards the right. There was nothing ahead but the quickly approaching block wall of a building. This part of the storage facility had no fence, it was bordered immediately by buildings, using their bulk as a natural barrier.

"Umm, Alfred?" He instinctively began bleeding off speed, ready to change directions. "There's a building in front of me. Did I take a wrong turn?"

He could hear the humor in the Englishman's voice through the comm. "I figured you wouldn't let something like that stand in your way. Shall I find something less...intimidating for you?"

"No, it'll do." Bruce armed the weapons. "Remind me to have Wayne Enterprises throw some money at them to help them rebuild. Helping those who suffer at the hands of our misguided vigilante or something."

The wall crumpled under the concentrated fire of his twin cannons, creating a yawning black chasm in the building's face. The Pod lurched on the rubble as it passed through, blowing another gaping hole in the far wall facing the street, before emerging out into Gotham's oddly silent streets.

"I'll see you later today, Alfred." Bruce gunned the engine again, wanting to get as far as possible from his hunters and to the relative safety of his safe haven within the city.

"Good night, sir."

* * *

><p>AN: Throughout this story Bruce will never, ever refer to anything as the Batmobile or the Batpod or, well...the Bat-anything. It's the car or the pod or the tumbler. From what Nolan has shown us I just don't see this Bruce as having the time or inclination to name anything. They are just there, tools for his use.

Also, as to his fighting. In no way am I a martial artist. Is Bruce a master at martial arts? Yes. Multiple types? Undoubtedly. However, I see him as more an amalgam than any one type of fighting. He's always outmanned and outgunned so necessity is the word of the day here. He's more focused on swift brutality. Disarming his opponents and then taking them out of the fight as quickly and efficiently as possible. Anything is fair game as long as it doesn't result in death or something overly extreme like paralysis. Hopefully I can convey some of that in my action.

Yep, the Riddler. He's one of the one's that's going to be a significant departure to comic lore. Altered heavily to fit the Nolan-verse...obviously. Really curious to see what you guys think of him. We'll be seeing more from him in the near future.

Reviews are always appreciated, whether positive or critical. I learn something from every single one.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I do not own Batman or any other characters affiliated with DC Comics

* * *

><p>Bruce blinked the sleep from his eyes again as the elevator doors opened. He yawned, not bothering to try and hide it from the passing employees as he ambled down the carpeted hallway. It'd be good for the cover after all. What was more difficult was hiding the limp that he'd acquired last night when he'd crashed into the Pod. That would just be annoying.<p>

Mornings were brutal. Well, early afternoons if you were being technical.

After being up most of the night getting hit, slammed, and shot at, Bruce figured most people would have a hard time the next day. He was no different, except his body ached from many such nights piling one on top of the next. Batman may not have weaknesses, but Bruce Wayne certainly felt every last scratch in astounding and painful detail.

His annoyingly bubbly assistant appeared at his side suddenly, materializing as if out of nowhere, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. Sometimes he wondered if his alter ego couldn't stand to take lessons from the diminutive woman. She'd certainly managed to startle him a time or two.

"Good morning, Mister Wayne!" Bruce winced at the energetic greeting. He knew he shouldn't be surprised anymore how fast word traveled in the building once he'd arrived for the day. She always knew.

Bruce took the proffered cup of coffee with a nod and a smile of gratitude. In his current state that was the best he could offer, but he was genuinely thankful for the caffeine it contained. He mumbled some kind of greeting back.

Without missing a beat she continued, sentences bleeding into one another in a stream of sound and consciousness. "You don't look so good this morning, sir. Long night? Must have been some party to leave you looking so tired. There was this one time where I..."

Bruce just nodded along when there were slight lulls in her speech. He was too tired to actively listen to the attractive blond prattle on and on. The woman was _still _trying to impress him. Apparently being hired as Bruce Wayne's assistant meant that he found you attractive and wanted to pursue a relationship. Or at least that's what Victoria had deemed it to mean. To her, the position was her ticket to wealth and fame. To Bruce she was an annoying, but scarily efficient assistant. Perhaps her desperation to appeal to him was what made her so good at her job.

He glanced down at her as she chattered away. She was also far, far too comfortable talking his ear off like she was doing at the moment. Apparently the intimidation that the Wayne name usually instilled in people was lost on the five foot tall woman.

"You're eleven o'clock is still waiting for you too," she finished, ending her monologue with the one pertinent bit of information. He'd nearly missed it he'd been so intent on ignoring her.

"Wait, what?"

"Your eleven o'clock," she said. Bruce honestly couldn't remember any morning meetings today. One thing he was pretty sure of though was that it was almost half past twelve when he'd arrived at Wayne Tower. In response to his blank face Victoria continued. "Your meeting with _Friends for a Greener Gotham_. You had been postponing it, but it was scheduled for today at eleven. The woman insisted on staying until she could see you though, no matter when you made it into the office. Should I have security remove her?"

He frowned, nodding a greetings to several passing office workers as he and Victoria continued towards his office.

_Friends for a Greener Gotham _was a well meaning, if slightly overly passionate environmental group bent on cleaning up Gotham City and the surrounding counties. It was a noble goal, but one not easily attained in Gotham's atmosphere of corruption and greed. Their usual activities were limited to the usual rallies and petitions common to non-profits with a couple shouting matches at City Council meetings thrown in for good measure. Every now and then an overzealous individual would do something stupid though. Acts that _Friends _would always quickly distance themselves from.

"Nah, I'll give her a half hour. See if I can't unruffle some of their feathers. Could you let Mister Fox know I'd like to see him this afternoon? Victoria nodded enthusiastically, making a note on the memo pad she always seemed to be carrying. "Why don't you see if you can scare us up something sweet to eat and some refreshments too, can't have her mad at me for keeping her waiting, can we?" He flashed his best flirtatious smile at her, trying his best to plaster his persona into place.

Victoria smiled back, nodding exaggeratedly. "Of course, Mister Wayne." She began to hurry off, heading for the corner that would bring her to his waiting area.

"Victoria," Bruce called after her. She spun on her heel, face brightening and eyebrows rising expectantly. "Her name?"

"Oh." She seemed to deflate slightly at the conventional nature of his question. "Of course, I'm sorry. Her name is Pamela Isley, Mister Wayne."

Victoria hurried away back to her desk to ready things as Bruce paused in the hallway, sipping lightly at his coffee. No matter how powerful, one never looked forward to being yelled at and Bruce was fairly sure he was about to be.

Taking a deep sigh and one more gulp of coffee he continued on down the hall, rounding the corner.

"Miss Isley," he said, holding out his right hand. "Sorry to keeping you waiting for so long. I'm Bruce Wayne." He left his hand extended in space as she just glared up at him from the leather chair she'd probably been inhabiting in for quite some time. "Right. Shall we?" He moved his arm to include the door to his office, already moving in that direction. The silence was almost worse than being screamed at. More a cold, simmering anger that he could almost feel coming off her in waves than the quick explosion he was hoping for.

She was following him though. Gathering her things from the floor beside the chair and entering the office as he held one of the large double doors open for her.

He blinked as she passed. Whatever subtle perfume she was wearing, it was intoxicating, making him light headed for a quick moment and making him feel slightly less like something that had just been scraped off the bottom of somebody's shoe. He quickly shook it off and followed her in, sizing up his adversary.

She was young, probably around Bruce's age or perhaps a year or two younger and tall, probably even taller than Selina. Auburn hair that would probably appear red in some light hung simply down her back against a professional but bland dark green business suit whose skirt ended just under the knee, displaying surprisingly shapely legs. She strode briskly past him, practically radiating menace and half controlled contempt, her hard brown eyes flashing behind the bright red frames of her narrow glasses.

Bruce motioned to a small sitting area off to the side in the spacious office, located by the wall of windows overlooking a spectacular view of the city. He hoped it would give things a more laid back feel than speaking to her from behind his mammoth desk. Maybe even serve to temper her obvious temper a tiny bit.

Not much more than a couple comfortable high backed chairs with small tables beside them, he usually preferred it to the more professional conference rooms when possible.

He settled down across from her, tossing his suit jacket over the back of the chair, again trying to put her more at ease and dial down the formality of their coming conversation. She just stared at him from her seat, crossing her legs properly.

"Look, Miss Isley, I really do want to apologize for being so late. I hope it in no way makes you think I have anything less than total respect for your group or the larger environmental movement. I had a really late night and..."

"It's fine," she said, waving her hand dismissively. Her tone obviously contradicted that statement. "Your reputation precedes you it would seem."

She was trying to control her ire, unwilling to unleash it in full on one of the environmental lobby's biggest contributors. As hot headed as she might normally be, apparently she also wasn't stupid.

"You'll have to excuse me. I honestly don't remember what this meeting was in reference to. Refresh my memory?" Bruce held back a grin when Isley rolled her eyes at him. Score one for the idiot billionaire.

"_Friends for a Greener Gotham_wished to discuss several of Wayne Enterprises' latest construction projects as well as future goals where we may be able to work together to better the city," she explained.

"Future goals? Such as?"

Isley leaned forward in her seat enthusiastically. "An increase in green technology as a start. Most of Gotham City is antiquated, making use of woefully substandard systems of power, sewer, public transportation, water...the list goes on and on." Her voice strengthened as she spoke, a passion for her work clear behind the words. "Wayne Enterprises has a history of trying to improve this city and we felt..."

"And you want us to tear out and rebuild Gotham's infrastructure?"

Isley nodded enthusiastically. "With the most current energy saving and green technologies available, yes. We've run the numbers," she said, producing a stapled set of papers from her briefcase that she passed to Bruce. "Gotham could cut it's power use by over fifty percent, it's water use by thirty five. Clean burning public buses and taxis would cut down emissions by almost seventy percent over the current models." She ticked the points off on her fingers one by one from memory. "Gotham could become the model that all other cities aspire to. A beacon of responsible development and appreciation of our natural world."

"And _our_other goals?"

"Habitat restoration, educational programs, park rehabilitation..." Bruce put up his hand, silencing her.

"Alright, listen. I'm not going to lie to you and get your hopes up," Bruce said, raising his voice slightly when he saw her open her mouth to respond, "_but_, I'm also not going to lie and say that some of your points aren't valid or...intriguing." She snapped her mouth shut as her eyes widened slightly, obviously not expecting to find any interest here in the gilded office of Gotham's most powerful. "It's certainly ambitious enough. Couple problem I see though. One," he ticked off a finger on his hand in front of her, "this isn't City Hall. And two," another finger, "it's certainly not something that can be done all at once and not something that can be done quickly...or cheaply."

While he spoke though Bruce's mind was whirring. Rehabilitating Gotham from the ground up? His father had tried to give the city a new life. He'd gotten his train built, his legacy to his city that endured even today. Could his son improve upon that? Rebuild the cracking, floundering foundation that the city was built upon.

It wouldn't be simple, but then again nothing worth doing ever was. Being the Batman had certainly taught him that lesson. More than the hospital or repairing one cracked and failing building at a time he could work to improve all of Gotham. Something that would benefit everyone.

Pamela Isley, though, scoffed and threw her hands in the air. "And there it is, back to money." She'd misunderstood what he'd said, thinking it was simply an outright dismissal.

"Well this _is_a business," Bruce replied, "and we are in the habit of making money. Quite a few people's well beings rely on that."

"As well as your own pockets!" she hissed. "The world burns and suffers while the rich rake in their mountains of gold. Typical."

"I said it wouldn't be cheap, not that I wasn't interested." Bruce kept his voice even and calm, despite the rising tone of hers. "I did say I was intrigued, didn't I?"

"What?" For the first time since the meeting had begun Isley was at a loss for words.

Bruce continued. "It's not something that can happen overnight. You can't just rip out everything that allows a city to run and replace it. Despite my money, there are limits." Bruce ran his hand through his hair as he considered things further. "The city would also have to be heavily involved. As well as the utilities and a myriad of other public agencies. Politics and bureaucracy start coming into play then, as well as corruption. Things become far more complicated than they originally seem fairly quickly." Pamela moved to speak again, her irritation palpable as she figured she was being once again being dismissed. The woman must have a complex or something to be always jumping towards the worst possible outcome. "What we _can_do though is get the ball rolling. I'm not even sure this would be possible, but we may as well find out. See if we can't get people to start talking about it downtown at the least."

Isley just sat and stared at him. He could tell she was still upset. Slightly stunned, but upset. Keeping it simmering just below the surface. Despite her intelligence and intentions she didn't want to hear the hard truth of the matter, looking for a quick fix rather than the reality of the situation.

That was the problem sometimes with idealists. They refused to see the truth at times, blinded by well meaning goals. For some the ends heavily outweighed the means. It was something Bruce himself sometimes had to deal with in his nightly pursuits. What was the Batman if not an idealist?

Bruce held up his hands in apology. "I know it's not everything you wanted, but these things take time. Most of what you're asking is within the public sector and outside my direct authority. There _are_other benefits to wealth besides money though." He let that sentence hang in the air for a while, allowing the woman's curiosity to grow.

"Such as?"

"Influence." Bruce shrugged. "Wealth makes one influential and I happen to have a lot of it. Maybe we put that to work for us." Pamela's eyes sparkled when he'd used the term "we", just as he'd hoped. "Like I said, it won't be fast...or easy, but I think this would be a legacy Wayne Enterprises would be interested in working towards."

She blinked again, trying to find her voice, probably more used to putting together words of condescension than of gratitude. He was sure if she thanked him it would cause her actual physical pain.

"I'm really not sure what to say, Mister Wayne. This is honestly not what I expected," she finally said. He noticed it wasn't really a thanks.

He grinned. "Sorry to disappoint."

Victoria chose that moment to enter Bruce's office bearing a tray of refreshments and snacks. She moved deftly over to them, placing the tray down between them.

"Thanks, Vic," Bruce said giving her a small smile that was returned in kind. He looked back towards Pamela to find her already nibbling on a strawberry. "You mentioned something else before. Something about our construction projects?" He really hoped he was not about to awaken the hornets nest again.

She visibly straightened, running her hands down her legs to smooth her skirt and preparing herself to do battle once again. "Yes, your projects." She took a sip of the tea Victoria had provided. "Unfortunately it took far too long to gain this audience with you to make any observations or effect any change on your new hospital."

Bruce didn't bother to correct her that his company wasn't, in fact, funding the entire hospital. That would just serve to antagonize her more and judging by the vehemence she still possessed behind her words he didn't need to do that any more than necessary.

Without pause she continued. "Instead, I wanted to bring up the several parcels of old, industrial land Wayne Enterprises has recently purchased across the river, on the mainland."

Bruce nodded, he'd just finished signing off on the agreements last week. "The petrochemical plants? What about them?"

"What are you intentions with them?" Leave it to Isley to be direct, the tone certainly made it sound more like a demand than an innocently directed question.

Bruce shrugged. "Undetermined at this point." In the current economy developing housing would be unprofitable and the land was too far away from the city center for most other uses. "I suppose you have some ideas you're going to tell me about?"

Isley leaned forward smiling. "A wildlife preserve. That whole area was once incredibly valuable ecologically. If we could return it to nature and set it back up as a saltwater marsh it would be beneficial in cleaning the local waterways and..."

Bruce couldn't help himself. He laughed. "Miss Isley...," he began.

She didn't skip a beat, the laugh had been the _wrong_reaction. Hey eyed flared and the switch was flipped, instantly transforming her into the confrontational juggernaut of the environmental movement.

"No, no, I get it," she spat, holding up her hands in exasperation, always ready to jump to conclusions. "It _always_comes back to the bottom line." Her voice didn't contain the same amount of vehemence that it once did, but she was still unhappy to not be getting her way.

"Yes and no." Bruce interrupted her again before she'd have a chance to pick up steam. At her confused look, he continued on. "I'd just have a tough time justifying that course of action to the board. Have to keep the stockholders happy after all." She was practically radiating heat the way her stare bore into him. He was sure her eyes could be pretty if they ever lost the simmering anger that roiled behind them.

This next part ought to surprise her then.

"But, I might be able to argue for restoring two or three of those parcels to their natural habitat." Bruce smiled at her and winked when her head snapped up to stare at him. "Still gotta appeal to their wallets after all."

"Just like that?" Isley asked, her eyes narrowing. It was the look of someone who thought they were being lied to.

"Sure. Something wrong with that?"

"No, no...I just." She paused and sighed, running a hand briefly through her hair and smoothing out her skirt. "Victories are few and far between for the environmental community. I guess we tend to go into things already assuming the worst."

"What can I say? You caught me on a good day," Bruce responded. He moved to stand, inviting her to do the same. "Normally I really enjoy watching forests get bulldozed."

She didn't laugh.

There may have been more on her agenda, but Bruce figured he'd appeased the environmental community enough as it was for one day. He was certain that Victoria had a whole list of things on her desk that he'd need to take care of today. Things that needed his personal attention. There really was only so much time he could devote to one fiery woman. Hopefully, he'd even averted making Wayne Enterprises yet another enemy.

Besides, he still needed to get downstairs to see Lucius at some point. "Again, I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

She dismissed the apology with a wave and a smile. "It's fine. You're an important man, Mister Wayne. I get it."

"Apparently," Bruce said absently. He opened the door for her, allowing her to pass him on the way out of his office. "I'll have our legal department and one of our project managers get in touch with _Friends_as soon as I run things up the flagpole and get initial approval from the board."

Pamela held out her hand in farewell, shaking Bruce's spiritedly. "Mister Wayne, this afternoon has been very enlightening. I really hope that you're a man of your word...for your sake. Thank you."

"Miss Isley, we'll be in touch."

Without another look she strode away, turning the corner and out of sight in seconds, her clean smelling scent following after her. Bruce watched her go, feeling the fatigue and familiar ache start to flow back over him as he yawned.

"Because that wasn't ominous."

Bruce didn't turn to look at his assistant. "Vic, would you let Mister Fox know that I'll meet him downstairs?" May as well get this over with he figured.

She nodded, already reaching for her phone as Bruce began the trek down the hall to the elevator.

"And I'd love another coffee."

* * *

><p>Jim Gordon had a lot on his mind at the moment. Then again, that wasn't exactly something new. Most men in his position, in charge of a major city's security and peacekeeping, would normally find themselves under a tremendous amount of stress.<p>

However, most major cities were not Gotham. Crime and violence were practically an institution here, almost as old and ingrained as the city itself. A religion, practiced by those with weak morals and little to no regard for their fellow man.

The Commissioner squinted in the hazy afternoon sunlight, his mouth in its usual, perpetual frown.

The governor had been calling again, putting pressure on the mayor and himself, concerned that the most populous city in his state was rapidly becoming a war zone. The calls had been becoming regular now, full of cries and pleads imploring him to curtail the mobs and gangs, to put a stop to the violence.

As if it were that easy.

They were also calling for the capture and unmasking of the vigilante known as the Batman. A man he considered his friend and ally.

Jim Gordon was a man in danger of losing his idealism. The pressures of the job and the knowledge of the consequences of his failures were ever-present. He was alone with his responsibility, losing himself and threatening to become a cynic.

If it wasn't for the fact that there was someone out there, his friend, he may have succumbed. But, he _was _out there, continuing to wage an even lonelier war than Gordon. Despite everything else he continued to believe in a better Gotham. He continued to hope. Beneath the persona, the black vehicles, and the terrifying costume lay a surprising optimism.

So, Gordon would continue to believe in something better and continue to fight for that future.

It would be what his friend would want.

Leaning against the cold concrete entry column of Precinct 20, the home of the major crimes unit, he checked his watch again. Five minutes past the hour.

Marko Kazan was late.

"Think he's actually going to show, Commissioner?"

Montoya was looking at him curiously, leaning on the column across from Gordon, next to Bullock. Bullock was staring off down the stairs in front of them with a bored look on his face, towards the street where several uniformed officers were loitering in small groups, waiting just like them.

"I think we'll find out soon enough, Detective," he said, then smiled. "It wouldn't be the first time I've been stood up."

Five hours ago, out of the blue, Gordon's office had gotten word that Kazan wanted to turn himself in to the authorities. Apparently having everyone in the city capable of pulling a trigger after you is enough to make even the most ruthless of criminals a bit desperate. The numerous rewards from the community and children's groups asking for sources of information leading to him had put dollar signs in quite a few law abiding citizen's eyes. The less than legitimate offers put out on the street for the man's body probably helped too.

So, they'd arranged for Marko to be driven right up to the front steps of the precinct where he'd willingly walk right into their open arms.

Many of the detectives and cops grumbled that they'd have to protect and watch over a child killer. Given the Batman's theory about what had truly happened that day Gordon questioned whether a little pity wouldn't be misplaced on the normally brutal gangster.

The man was a killer in his own right though, despite what he may or may not be responsible for. He'd been responsible for dozens of killings and causing pain to hundreds. It was something Gordon would have to keep in mind. This man belonged where he was going. That he was going out of fear and a desire to save his own skin didn't really matter.

Of course, Gordon also had no idea what they were going to do with him if that was actually the case. They didn't have the evidence to charge him with a crime and the Gotham Police Department wasn't exactly in the habit of providing personal protection for any of its citizens, law-abiding or not.

"What do you think of this whole Falcone thing?" Montoya said, her question aimed at Bullock. The young detective was probably not one for idle silence. Probably hadn't been forced to learn the virtue of endless patience yet.

"Gonna get himself killed is what he's gonna do, pissing of Sabatino like that," Bullock replied.

"But you think he's legit? That he's actually going to do the things he said he would?"

Bullock grunted, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the younger woman. "Hell if I know. Hard to believe the apple falls far from the tree, but who knows. Maybe Gotham'll finally get a break. Not like it doesn't deserve one," he muttered.

The city was abuzz over the previous day's top news story. Alberto Falcone, only son and heir to Carmine Falcone had swept into Gotham City and had promptly begun making all sorts of promises.

Alberto had been sent away to boarding schools in Europe by his father at an early age and had never returned, considered too weak and timid by his father to be a part of the family business. So, he'd grown up, away from the corruption and crime of Gotham, living and going to school in England before eventually attending and graduating from Oxford with honors. Never one for the spotlight he'd traveled the continent, making something of a name for himself and amassing a tidy little business empire in his own right.

Carmine's supposedly "weak" son had been smarter and more resilient than his father ever could have hoped to be.

He'd also never been touched by scandal or the whisper of wrongdoing. The son of Gotham's one-time biggest crime lord was, by all appearances, a model, law abiding citizen.

That didn't stop the rumors though. Or the doubt. He was still Carmine Falcone's son after all, he still bore the infamous name...and he was now in Gotham City.

He was also making all sorts of assertions and promises since he'd returned, not even waiting to leave the airport where several camera crews had been waiting for him. Promises that were going to piss off some very powerful, very dangerous men. Men that had no compunction about ending the life of someone like Alberto Falcone.

Johnny Sabatino was one glaring example.

After the death of Salvatore Maroni the Galante's had seized most of the holdings that had once belonged to Maroni, and Falcone before him. Nobody had cried foul about it, it was the way things were in Gotham. You went along with things or you disappeared and were found a month later floating in the harbor.

On that basis Alberto Falcone seemed to have a death wish. Or he was simply playing without a full deck. Either conclusion wouldn't be unreasonable given everything else that had happened in this city.

He'd arrived, stepped out of the corporate jet, and promptly begun making claims to his father's legitimate businesses and holdings with promises to keep everything he acquired completely above board. Practically daring the media to follow his every move to guarantee transparency. Gordon figured that he might actually have a fairly solid legal argument to make since he was Carmine's next of kin. Despite his daily dealings with the law the Commissioner was no lawyer and they'd be the ones to settle things here.

If it indeed got that far.

Those perfectly legal businesses were the Italian mob's various front companies and money laundering operations that provided a considerable amount of their disposable income. Enterprises that they would not be happy to lose and would most certainly fight to protect.

New developments were certainly taking place around him. Jim Gordon just wasn't sure if they were for the better or worse.

He absently checked his watch again and sighed, letting the breath out slowly. Almost ten minutes late now and still no sign of the aging mobster. Things weren't going as he'd hoped, though that shouldn't come as a complete surprise. Gordon smiled mirthlessly at the cynicism that was still groaning to break free.

The squeal of tires drew his eyes down the street where a gleaming black sedan had just careened through the red light, leaving honking horns and irate drivers in its wake.

Leave it to a mob boss to make a law-breaking entrance.

Gordon began trudging down the familiar faded concrete steps towards the curb and the gathering officers, motioning for his two detectives to follow him.

There hadn't been much of an explanation on the part of the Ukrainians for today's little meet and greet, unsurprisingly tending towards the standard brusque and hostile attitude that they always met the police with. Police detectives were inherently inquisitive though and Gordon still had that character trait firmly ingrained in him. He really wasn't sure what the Eastern Europeans were hoping to accomplish with this little stunt, but he sure wanted to find out.

His reflection greeted him in the heavily tinted back window of the town car as it roared up in front of him, the car rocking back as it came to a sudden, jarring halt. Two impossibly large men appeared out of the front doors, eyeing the assorted policemen warily before scanning the surrounding landscape behind mirrored sunglasses in a poor attempt at vigilance. They obviously weren't trained bodyguards, not with their manner of dress or the way they never looked above the ground floor of the buildings around them.

No wonder Marko feared for his life.

One man, the driver, nodded once to the other, apparently signaling that things were clear because the other man moved back to the rear of the vehicle and opened the door for their employer.

Gordon had met the infamous Ukrainian a couple times before. They had tried to indict him for racketeering once a few years back and more recently had failed to get him twice for conspiracy to commit murder.

Neither time did he remember the man looking this old.

Kazan was still a bear of a man, short but powerfully stocky. His many years of tough, violent living were plainly displayed across his creased and bearded face. A wicked scar he'd attained before he'd immigrated graced his left cheek, just below his dark eye. His wide shoulders didn't hold the same confidence as before though, slightly slumped as if resigned to their fate. His eyes still held an inner fire within them, one that was tempered with a slight twinge of defeat as he handed himself off to who he probably considered his enemies.

Within the past month he's seen his only son killed and become the most hated man in Gotham, hunted by everyone that could carry a firearm...and one that didn't. It was only natural to be a bit beaten down after that.

Gordon stayed where he was, unsure how to proceed. He couldn't exactly slap him in handcuffs, despite the overwhelming desire to do so. The man wasn't under arrest. Nor could he bring himself to shake his hand. The grizzled murderer didn't deserve any kind of familiar greeting.

Thankfully Bullock made the decision for him, stepping forward and gruffly barking, "This way," with a jerk of his head.

Marko simply nodded in response, eyeing the man in front of him before shifting slightly and letting them hungrily and obviously march up and down Montoya.

The female detective glared right back at him, a look of disgust etched on her normally placid features. She rolled her eyes at his lecherous smile and began walking up the stairs, leading the way back up to the entrance.

"Commissioner."

The small group stopped and turned back to where Marko still stood, unmoving, one hand resting on top of the car as though he were having second thoughts.

"And what is to happen to me now?"

The three detectives looked at each other uncomfortably. They really had no idea. Some possibilities had been briefly discussed, but they hadn't been able to come up with anything that made sense. This was a new situation for all involved.

Gordon spoke up, just to get things moving. "Let's just get inside and then we can discuss what we can do for each other."

A small smile played across Kazan's face and a small portion of his swagger returned. Gordon knew this type of man. He was looking for some kind of power. Some way that he could at least partially control the situation he found himself in.

"A negotiation then, yes?"

Gordon looked over at Bullock who just sent him back a questioning look. The Commissioner shrugged his shoulders at Bullock and nodded slowly at Kazan. Maybe they'd get lucky enough to have the man turn state's evidence on some of the other organizations in the city.

The Ukrainian's smile broadened as he once more affixed Montoya with his gaze. "I wish for her to be present. She'll make things so much more...attractive."

She kept her cool though, shaking her head in disgust and rolling her eyes, but otherwise ignoring the man's attention and turning to face back up the stairs towards the entrance.

That didn't seem to deter Marko. He was a man obviously used to getting who and what he wanted. His temper and...appetites were legend. Apparently he also liked to amuse himself be eliciting a reaction from people.

"She is fiery, this one," he said to Bullock, motioning to her. "She will be fun to tame. Have you had the pleasure of breaking her spirit or will I be the first?"

Montoya spun on him, eyes blazing and fists clenched at her side, ready to lay into him. Gordon was already moving towards her, ready to pull her away and calm her down as she set her feet. The furious young detective met his amused gaze and opened her mouth to respond, bringing her hand up to jab him in the chest.

She never got the chance.

Kazan's head disappeared, seemingly exploding into a cloud of fine red mist with a sickening squish, followed a split second later by the distant crack of a rifle.

Time froze and sound disappeared.

The detectives stared at what had, until recently, been a man. The head was mostly gone, just the jagged remnants and tissue of part of his lower face remained, a bit of jawbone jutting out preposterously. Anchored in place in shock and unable to move, they watched as the body collapsed in on itself, falling in a bloody heap at their feet.

The soft thud it made hitting the concrete snapped Gordon out of his stupor. He looked up from the body to Montoya.

She was still staring straight ahead, eyes wide in shock and unfocused. Her upper torso and face were covered in the mobster's blood and gore, a couple drops on her cheek and forehead slowly and silently sliding down her normally light brown skin.

And then pandemonium struck.

One of the few civilians on the street screamed shrilly, having finally noticed the carnage on the building's steps. Heads turned to look in reaction and things quickly devolved into more screams and scrambling people.

Every officer but Gordon and Montoya had their firearms out, scanning the surrounding street and buildings for the location of the shooter. Bullock was shouting orders at several of the uniformed men while simultaneously trying to yell into his radio to gather backup.

Nobody bothered to check on the fallen Ukrainian.

Detective Montoya still stood stock still, staring straight ahead as she shut down. Completely stunned at what she'd witnessed merely a foot and a half in front of her, her arm still half extended towards the space that Marko had previously occupied.

"Detective?" Gordon asked. Bullock could handle the scene, but he needed to get the young woman out of here. He added a little more authority to his voice and tried again.

"Detective!"

Her eyes blinked and comprehension seemed to return, but her eyes remained wide, two white orbs surrounded by a grotesque layer of red. She lowered her arm and seemed to take a shaky breath before finally glancing down at the body at her feet.

"Oh god." She covered her mouth with her hands, snapping her eyes shut.

Gordon pulled his overcoat off and draped it around her shoulders, wrapping his arms around her protectively. He looked over her shoulder to see a large, jagged crater in the side of one of the columns at shoulder height.

The bullet had gone through Kazan's head and likely passed with inches of Montoya. Getting hit by anything big enough to do that to a human head would almost assuredly be fatal. Either the young detective was exceptionally lucky or someone out there was one hell of a shot.

He glanced back at her to see her staring off into space before returning his attention to the column, rubbing his hand up and down her back absently, trying desperately to be reassuring to the stunned woman.

"Okay...you're okay. Everything's okay. You're fine." he whispered into her hair, never taking his eyes from the bullet hole.

* * *

><p>AN: Might be a slightly longer wait for the next chapter. It's about 70% done but I've run into a minor case of personal life meets writer's block. I'll make it snappy though.

Thoughts on our first look at Miss Isley?


	7. Chapter 7

I threw together a sort of poster/cover image for **Legend** and linked to it on my profile page for any that are interested. I invite you to let me know what you think.

There's some references to real world military technology and acronyms contained in this chapter. Anything marked with an asterisk will have a brief explanation at the end of the chapter for those that are interested.

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The doors dinged and slid open quietly on the sub-basement floor revealing a seemingly endless stretch of columns extending away into the semi-darkness. The lights down here were motion activated and by now Bruce knew to simply follow the lit path in order to find Lucius. The older man rarely waited for him.<p>

He always enjoyed his forays into Applied Sciences. It was a dimension of Wayne Enterprises that not many people saw. Away from the prominent building and famous playboy. Away from the construction projects and civil service. It was a world of endless possibilities. A sea of ideas with their correspondingly vast number of solutions.

Bruce was sure his father would have appreciated it just as much as he did.

Besides his resolve and stubbornness the department was also possibly the single largest contributor to making the Batman a reality.

He strolled past another stack of steel crates, hands in his pockets. Each crate was marked "prototype" in sprayed on stenciled lettering. The same as everything else here. Singular visions of genius that had either no market to turn a profit or were deemed too expensive or dangerous to be produced.

Luckily, the Batman didn't suffer from those limitations.

Bruce paused next to one half opened container to examine its partially exposed contents. The acronym _VTOL_ was prominently displayed in black, block lettering beneath the single word _Wraith_. Like many of the other items stored down in these depths it resembled something out of a science fiction movie, all angular lines and sharp points, silent and imposing. Although it wasn't small by any means, probably twenty feet long and thirty feet from wing tip to wing tip, the craft was plainly not big enough to carry a person and he could see no signs of a cockpit. A drone then?

He'd have to remember to ask Lucius about that one.

Fox nodded to Bruce casually in greeting as he approached, bending down to check the serial number on the crate in front of him with a scrap of paper in his hand.

"Alright," Lucius said, lifting a long plastic case on to a nearby table and popping the latches. The open case revealed what resembled a small rifle, tucked securely into the molded foam.

Bruce frowned as he looked it over. Definitely a firearm of some sort. The long barrel, folding stock, and holographic sight pretty much gave that away. He cocked an eyebrow at the older man.

"High powered pneumatic rifle, custom ordered for the special forces boys." He winked at Bruce. "We managed to...acquire...one or two for our own archives." Lucius slid his hands into the case and picked it up, carefully handing it to Bruce for his own inspection. "These babies will pump out darts at around six hundred feet per second. Good enough to penetrate most light kevlar body armors at, oh, about fifty yards. Semi automatic with a five round magazine."

"Darts?"

"Yep. Figured you didn't exactly aim to be killing these dogs so I had R & D put together a new tranquilizer," Lucius said. He popped a cartridge out of the case, opening the side to display five streamlined steel flechettes, one of which he passed to Bruce. "Synthetic, but perfectly harmless."

"Fast acting?" Bruce turned it over in his fingers.

"You could say that." Lucius grinned. "Nerve conduction velocity is off the charts. Should put down a charging rottweiler before it even knows it's been hit."

"How about humans?" Bruce asked.

"Planning to use it on some of your dates, Mister Wayne?"

"Well, maybe just the ones who deserve it, Mister Fox."

"Right," Lucius said, taking the dart back from Bruce. "They're loaded for something comparable to the weight of an attack dog. It'll work on a human too, just might take a little bit longer, depending on the person's mass." At Bruce's questioning look he continued. "Say another five to ten seconds, give or take. Should still be plenty. I'd avoid offensive lineman though."

"So, you're basically giving me a dart gun?" Bruce said. He put his hands in his pockets, cocking his head to the side. "It's...umm...big."

"And?"

"It won't be easy to carry."

Lucius' lip curled up knowingly. "Thought you might say that." He lifted the clasps on another case, revealing what looked like Bruce's normal gauntlets. "Integrated an injector into these, not much more than a hidden syringe really." Lucius reached in and depressed a section of the armored forearms. The point on the last of the three scallops slid forward just enough to expose the end of a hypodermic needle. "Each gauntlet has one and each syringe's got three uses before it's empty."

"Then why the dart gun?"

"Given your history I just figured you'd want to avoid having to get too up close and personal," Lucius said. "You can just leave it behind when you no longer need it." He pointed his finger at Bruce. "Just try to go back for it. Only so many of these things around."

Bruce nodded absently, running his hand over the gauntlet. When a small booklet slapped his chest he startled slightly, looking up at the older man.

"The instructions," he said, grinning. "So you don't go knocking yourself or poor Alfred out accidentally."

"Well, we wouldn't want that to happen, now would we?" Bruce chuckled for a second at the visual that thought provided. "So, Mister Fox," Bruce continued, gesturing back towards the lit path he'd come down, "Wraith VTOL?"

That elicited a chuckle. "Oh..._that. _You certainly have an eye, don't you, Mister Wayne. Come on."

The older man started walking back down the trail towards the elevator, leaving the open cases where they were. Bruce followed close behind him.

"It was developed as part of a CIA drone program. They wanted to maximize the potential for unmanned aerial vehicles for use in urban environments. We came up with one that had all the bells and whistles." He shrugged. "In the end, they decided to just go with the Predators the army had already developed and that were considerably cheaper," Lucius explained as they walked. "CIA decided cost was more important than having stealth capabilities. Ah, here we are." He kicked aside a portion of the crate and pulled off a canvas tarp that covered half they aircraft.

Like the tumbler, it wasn't pretty.

Angular panels made up the body and what could only be called "wings", coming together to form a strange, ambiguous shape that tapered back into a small "V" tail. The "wings" themselves were actually housings for large fan blades, one on either side of the central fuselage; folded up for storage.

"Fully VTOL* capable. The fan blades pivot and rotate to enable hovering, reverse flight, and vertical take-offs. Up here at the front," he knocked on an angular dome that fell under the nose of the craft, "is a full sensor array. Includes a telephoto camera, forward looking infrared viewer, and a thermal sight. The pod down the center of the fuselage is an ECM* package. Capable of disrupting or disabling pretty much any communications or wireless signals." Lucius stood up from pointing out the faintly cylindrical pod underneath the Wraith.

Bruce folded his arms in thought. "Can it fly...without constant supervision? How is it controlled?"

"Well, primary control _is _through remote operation by a pilot, but it can also follow programmed routes and has terrain and obstacle avoidance too. Yeah, it can fly on it's own...to a limited degree."

"And it's armed?"

Lucius grinned and nodded. "Of course, Mister Wayne. It mounts two AGM-121* Reaper guided missiles internally. Active laser homing with fifteen pound shaped charge warheads. They're small, but pack a good punch."

Bruce just stared at it, going back over the specifications Fox had listed while he slowly walked a half circle around it. With an unmanned drone at his disposal Batman would have easy access to aerial support and almost continuous surveillance. A grin slowly started spreading on his face, starting at the corners of his mouth and working it's way towards the middle of his face.

Lucius must have been able to tell where Bruce's thoughts were headed, because he chuckled and crossed his arms, speaking to the young billionaire from the opposite side of the Wraith. "You do realize this thing has a _huge_ instruction manual."

* * *

><p>Normally <em>Les Miserables<em> was one of Bruce's favorites. The story of Jean Valjean's redemption after a dark past had always resonated with him, now more than ever.

Tonight was different though. Tonight Brandon Thorne happened to be sitting in the box across from his.

And he happened to be sitting next to _her_.

The Gotham Metropolitan Theatre was packed, as usual, for opening night. The usual cast of characters were out in force, primped and adorned in their finest and pretending to enjoy the 19th-century French tale. The theater itself was also resplendent. An extensive overhaul had been completed just for the arrival of the award winning play. Everything from the fine woodworking to the plush chairs had been painstakingly restored or replaced.

To Bruce it was still the same.

The same stage where he'd watched Mefistofele with his parents at his side. The same side entrance that they'd used to slip out quietly on a night when everything in his world changed.

Bruce shuddered from the memory, working to push it back into the recesses of his mind and brought his attention back to the always intriguing Selina Kyle.

She looked bored.

A night like this was always a pleasant distraction from his usual routine. A moment in time where he could lose himself in the performance and forget the stresses that dominated his life. Bruce had never expected how heavy the burden he carried would be. How solitary and lonely his life would become. Luckily, it was a fact that he didn't often stop to think about. He'd come into his crusade knowing he'd be sacrificing much of his happiness and life for the benefit of his city. It was something he'd accepted and made peace with before he'd even first appeared as the Batman.

In those rare instances though when Bruce had a free moment the loneliness was still something that ate at him.

Tonight there was also the familiar additional weight of guilt. The massacre, the murder of Marko Kazan on the steps of Major Crimes, and now this murder by some apparent Joker impostor and here he was, watching a musical while allowing himself to be slightly infatuated by a woman with whom he'd had little more than a superficial conversation. He really shouldn't be here, wouldn't be here if not for Alfred. Somehow, the older man always seemed to eventually get his way.

He was also usually right. That got annoying.

A song began on stage, the music from the orchestra rising to signal its beginning. Bruce kept his attention where it was on the far viewing box. Tonight, Selina was making for a better distraction than the actors below.

Just like last time, she looked good. Really good. Bruce figured that she must be particular to black since she was wearing it again. Of course it certainly suited her, matching her dark hair and contrasting perfectly with her flawless, cream colored skin.

He vastly preferred the small smile she had had most of the time she'd been talking with him to the frown and crossed arms she was sporting at the moment.

Again Bruce was struck by the odd relationship she seemed to have with Thorne. She obviously found him distasteful, despite the fact he'd now seen them on what would normally be considered dates. Brandon seemed to remain either unaware or uncaring of her disdain towards him, possibly just content to have someone that looked like her on his arm.

So what was their relationship then and what was Selina getting out of it? She didn't seem to be the type to be with someone for just their money. At least he hoped his impression of her wasn't that far off.

That's when Bruce noticed that she was walking out the door to her box, leaving Thorne muttering to himself and shaking his head with whatever she'd said.

Without thinking he rose, turning to the door.

"Bruce?"

He stopped, imperceptibly wincing when he remembered that he'd actually come with a date. He couldn't even remember why this one was supposed to be well known.

"Can you get me some popcorn?"

Did they even sell popcorn at something this high end? He just nodded though and closed the door behind him, walking casually, or what he hoped looked casual, down the well appointed hallway that would circle around the theater to where her box was located.

What he was doing, he had no idea. Selina was obviously unavailable, somehow attached to Brandon Thorne. For Bruce's public persona that wouldn't really be a roadblock, but for his real life...even a straightforward relationship, never mind one with someone's girlfriend an was out of the question.

Of course, none of that answered why he practically leaped out of his seat when he saw her make her exit or why he felt so compelled to see and talk to the beautiful woman.

"Not enjoying the performance?"

He stopped and hung his head, smiling slightly to himself at being caught. Bruce turned slowly, bringing his eyes up to find a familiar woman with familiar green eyes looking back at him. Selina was leaning nonchalantly against the wall in a small alcove with her arms crossed, that small, knowing smirk back on her face and her eyes dancing with humor.

Bruce shook his head, walking over closer to her. "Me? I'm more of a Phantom man myself," he said, shrugging. "What's your excuse?"

"Irritating company," she spat, a little more vehemently than he would have expected. "Sorry."

"Brandon?"

Selina just nodded, her mirth temporarily slipping as she was forced to think about the man that had so obviously wormed his way under her skin. The half smile was back on her face in no time though as she pushed off from the wall, walking closely enough past Bruce for him to smell her perfume.

"I'm going to get some air. Join me?" She kept walking, asking the question over her shoulder as she crossed to the glass doors that opened up on to a viewing terrace. Bruce fell in step beside her, pausing to open the door and let her pass.

Bruce couldn't help but notice. She smelled _really _good.

"So you and Brandon...?" he asked as nonchalantly as possible, leaning on the steel railing that overlooked the glittering city.

"Are complicated." Was all she said at first, joining Bruce at the rail. Selina blew out a breathe, staring out over the city rather than meet his gaze. "It really isn't what you think. Me and Brandon have a...an understanding...I guess. Like I said...complicated."

"You make it sound more like a business deal than a relationship," Bruce said, frowning instantly as he realized what his words could insinuate.

Far from being shocked or scandalized Selina smiled seductively, striking an exaggerated pose with one hand on her hip as she looked over at him. "Why, Mister Wayne," she teased, "are you trying to imply something about my profession?"

Bruce froze. Had he really just accused a complete stranger of being a prost...woman of the night? Crap. "Miss Kyle, listen I really didn't..."

She just waved her hand casually, cutting off his hasty apology. "Relax, pretty boy, I'm screwin' with ya. Not every day you get the chance to do that to a billionaire," she mused, laughing lightly at the redness appearing on his cheeks, apparent plainly even in the dim light. "So, you really thought...me and Thorne?" She rolled her eyes. "Please, the man's repulsive."

Bruce stopped to consider. Sure, Thorne shared his father's rotund physique and was notorious for a certain lack of grooming. A fact not lost on and much discussed by the gossiping socialites he found himself all to often in contact with. Then again, hadn't the generally loathed Francis Essen just married some jaw dropping pinup model?

He glanced back to where Selina silently awaited an answer and shrugged. "Weird things happen. Money can make for some...strange pairings. I've heard it's quite the aphrodisiac."

"I'm sure," she said. "Not in this particular case though." Selina broke away from his look again to stare out unseeingly over the lights. "I'm after something else."

"What?"

She still wouldn't meet his eyes. "Let's just say it's something personal."

Whatever it was, she didn't want to talk about it, her last sentence obviously meant to end the line of inquiry. Of course, that did nothing to quash the questions that it also sprouted as a result. Questions, that it seemed, would have to wait.

She rolled her eyes when she saw him looking at her out of the corner of his eye curiously. She let out a sigh and tried to smile again. It didn't reach her eyes. "Either way, he's not going to be around much longer if I have anything to say about it."

"Well, that wasn't ominous. Should I be calling the police?" Bruce deadpanned, hoping to draw back out the smile that so captivated him. "Because...you know, I can't be a party to something illegal, despite what I think of him."

Selina shook subtly in the darkness as she laughed lightly, almost silently, but her wide smile gleamed in the reflected light. "Unfortunately nothing quite so dark, just planning on cutting him loose at the earliest convenience."

"Mind if I ask why?"

"I got what I needed from him," she said shrugging casually. Almost immediately she must have realized what she'd said because she wrinkled her nose as though she'd caught a whiff of something rotten. "God, that really makes me sound catty, doesn't it?"

"_What! _No, not at all." His sarcasm earned him a light slap on his shoulder that, surprisingly, managed to carry a little more force than he'd expected. She was beaming at him though. He wasn't about to bring up what she might have been looking to get from Thorne though. She'd already displayed that she'd be tight lipped about it and Bruce was enjoying her return to good humor. If he really stopped to think about it, he also wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know the answer. It was a truth that could spoil something he was genuinely enjoying and Bruce found that he also really didn't want to think of her as one of "those girls". "I distinctly seem to remember someone denying their innocence though."

She brought her hand up, resting her face in her palm, two fingers absently playing with her earring. It effectively hid the majority of her face from him. Had she just blushed?

"Touche, Mister Wayne."

"Bruce." He smiled at her, one his few authentic grins, and turned to lean sideways on the handrail, fully facing her.

Selina leaned over and bumped his shoulder playfully. "You know, this conversation really isn't making me look very good, is it?" Bruce just shrugged and continued smiling playfully at her. "In an effort to turn the tables...do you always stalk unavailable young women, Bruce?"

He bit his lip and decided to avoid the stalking comment. He _had _followed her out into the hall the second she'd left her seat like an eager puppy after all. Apparently, judging by her playful look, she'd noticed that. A fact that was more than a little ...embarrassing.

He fought the blush that was threatening to spread and shrugged instead, smirking at her. "I'll just let my reputation answer that one for me." Obviously his reputation was one that prompted most women to lock up their daughters and married men to hide their wives. Reality was, as usual, considerably more boring than the gossip that seemed to circulate around town at speeds that boggled the mind. It was a phenomena that neither Bruce nor Alfred took any great pains to discourage though.

Her look shifted. The smirk gone and immediately replaced with one of serious contemplation. "You know, I'm not sure I actually buy all the airheaded, skirt chasing headlines."

Curious and...alarming news. He seemed to have most people pretty convinced. It was a public face he spent plenty of money and devoted time he'd rather put elsewhere to sell. In some ways it was a much more difficult acting job than his nighttime persona. His features though remained neutral, relaxed in an easy grin. "Why's that?"

"Never was much for rumors and gossip for one," she said, looking back out over the city lights. "And two, you haven't actually made a pass at me yet." Selina was smiling again, that bright, intoxicating one where the humor danced in her eyes. "What's the matter? Can't get a date without your social secretary?"

"I guess I don't really date a lot. Hard to know what peoples' motivations really are sometimes," Bruce replied. He inwardly groaned, that probably just made him sound like he had all the social life of a barracuda.

Of course, it was the truth, he didn't, but she didn't need to know that. Traveling the world and training to become someone most men would fear hadn't allowed him the time to develop the way with women most believed he possessed. It was yet another aspect of the elaborate acting job he was doing for the benefit of Gotham. The truth...he really did rely heavily on his money and Alfred to make the introductions.

And just why the hell was he actually worried about what she thought anyways?

She was still leaning on the railing, but turned to face him more fully now, eyes alight. "Right, I _almost _forgot...rich _and _famous. Funny how you like to keep reminding me about that."

Bruce grinned at her. "Well, if you're going to keep forgetting..."

She looked back towards the door they come through to get outside. "And what does that make her?" she said nodding towards the theater building. "Tonight's arm candy? Flavor of the week maybe?"

He figured there was no sense in lying to Selina, there was no way he'd actually be able to convince anyone that he knew the girl he'd come with, much less someone as perceptive as she seemed to be. "Something like that." He turned back to facing the lights of the city in front of them. "It's..."

"Complicated?" She grinned and leaned in close, looking up at him and bumping shoulders affectionately. She stayed nice and close afterwards too, a fact not lost on Bruce. He really hoped that she didn't notice how tense it made him. "She's pretty. What's Miss-Arm-Candy's name anyways?"

Bruce refused to make eye contact with her, flinching slightly and left to fidget in the uncomfortable silence under her gaze. "Umm..."

She laughed loudly at his hesitation, angling her head back and giggling with her entire body. His silence had broadcast his answer loud and clear. "Wow," she said, wiping away a tear. "And _that _would be strike two."

Bruce frowned at her response. She was obviously still joking around, but that still left a rather obvious question, one he was sure she was waiting for him to ask. "Strike two? And what was strike one?"

"Being...you. Being Bruce Wayne," she responded, accompanied by a decidedly sexy little wink. "And may I say, that's a big, _big_ strike."

He just chuckled silently and shook his head. Damn, if this woman didn't make rejecting him endearing. It was probably for the best though. It hadn't even been that long ago that he'd been trying to convince Alfred just how unwise a romantic entanglement would be at the moment.

Of course, that also didn't stop his mind from whirring uncontrollably at the possibility.

"I thought you said you didn't believe the rumors?."

"I don't. Still doesn't mean I'm looking to be some sort of modern day princess though. I'll let Miss Flavor of the Week over there take care of that for you."

"I thought every girl wanted to grow up to be a princess?"

"Yeah, when they're little girls. Women, Bruce, we want to feel like one. Women just want to feel like a princess. That media blitz you call a life requires a special level of crazy for someone to want to jump in head first."

"There hasn't exactly been a lack of potential candidates."

"I'm sure," she smirked. "You just go right ahead and enjoy the parade of airheads then." She patted him a couple times on the shoulder, mocking support before pushing herself off the railing and straightening. "Well," she said, "I think it's about time we get back. One of us has a respectable appearance to keep." They just looked at each other silently for a second before she leaned in and gently kissed his cheek, before turning and heading for the door.

"Oh...and Bruce, one more thing," Selina chuckled, turning back towards him after taking a couple of quick steps, "you are _really _bad at flirting. My advice? You really need to get out more."

He grinned. Leave it to her to get in one last little jab. "Is that an invitation?"

She allowed a half grin to quirk her lips one final time. "We'll see, Bruce. G'night."

With that, she was gone, passing through the glass doors and moving off down the hallway. Bruce stayed where he was a minute longer, enjoying the solitude of the cool night air as he mentally went back over his conversation with Selina. The lonely sound of a single police siren brought him back to reality. Eventually he too pushed off from the railing and headed back into the concert hall as well. As he pulled open the door a sudden thought flashed through his mind, causing him to release a gusty sigh and roll his eyes.

Now he needed to see if there was someplace that sold popcorn.

* * *

><p>The body of Jackson Heart was found in his home the next day, on the morning of a dreary Tuesday. His neighbor, an elderly man named Russ found him. Turns out, they'd had plans together on Monday to fix an aging fence that was separating their properties and that had fallen into disrepair.<p>

Jack had never showed. Jack had never called.

Using the key his neighbor had entrusted him with in case of emergency Russ had let himself in, concerned for his friend and his generally ill health. Nothing could have ever prepared him for what he stumbled into though. A grisly scene that gave even some police pause along with what was left of the friendly seventy four year old.

The brutal killing had shocked the usually indifferent community on the Upper West Side. Used to muggings and random theft, even they weren't prepared for the senseless stabbing death of one of its citizens.

In what could only be described as an animalistic rage Jackson Heart had been stabbed eighty four times, over sixty of them postmortem, a wicked grin awkwardly carved into his sunken cheeks.

Pinned to his lapel was a worn and bloodied Joker card.

The discovery had left everyone momentarily scrambling in surprise until it was discovered that the serial murderer known only as the Joker was still securely residing within the confines of Arkham Asylum.

* * *

><p>AN:

***VTOL** - Vertical Take-Off and Landing  
>Designation for any fixed wing or rotary craft that is able to hover and take-off and land vertically. The AV-8 Harrier or V-22 Osprey are probably the best known examples of this technology outside of helicopters.<p>

***ECM** - Electronic Counter Measures  
>Designation for electronic systems used to defeat radar, sonar, and other tracking technologies including missile homing devices in both offensive and defensive purposes. For the purposes of this story it will also contain the ability to deny enemy radio and communications technologies.<p>

***AGM-121** - Air to Ground Missile  
>The designation is real, but the missile is made up, based upon the AGM-114 Hellfire missile carried by helicopters and Predator drones.<p>

I honestly think an unmanned drone would be a piece of real world technology the Batman would jump at. Honestly a jet does nobody any good in an urban environment. They're too fast and not even close to being maneuverable enough in those confines. A helicopter is also restrictive...you still need a place to land the thing after all if you want to get out. Since Batman can already pseudo-fly in the Nolan-verse I figured this would be more appropriate than an actual vehicle for him to pilot. It's something he can work in tandem with (through Alfred or Lucius).

Hmmm...who could be committing Joker themed killings?

Let me know what you think of the direction of the story! Hope you enjoy.


	8. Chapter 8

_If you enjoyed this or any of the previous chapters, please take a second and send the author a review. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets them know you care._

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

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><p>Edward Nigma was <em>not<em> making himself hard to find. Considering the scope and complexity of a metropolis the size of Gotham it really wasn't impossible to stay hidden when one so desired. For a man of his purported...talents, he should have all but disappeared. In fact, for an elite assassin he was practically broadcasting his location to anyone willing to look. It left his hunter scratching his head and wondering if his reputation was, in fact, legitimate.

Bruce had picked up his trail easily enough the day after Marko Kazan was killed. He'd set up an hourly search function to report 'hits' from any of the standard databases his computers routinely monitored. A credit card, surprisingly issued in the name "Edward Nigma", was used to rent a room at the Flaming Arrow Motel deep in Riley's territory. It was either an amateur mistake or he wasn't even trying to hide from the authorities, going so far as to flaunt his location.

Not that the police knew to even be looking for him. If it wasn't for the offhanded mention of his nickname in O'Grady's even the Batman would be in the dark about the identity of his quarry.

The Gotham police had found the perch from which Kazan had been shot three hours after the fact, being forced to search every room within line of sight of the stairs. Seven hundred yards away and twelve stories up the large bore rifle was waiting for them, wiped clean, a small green magnet in the shape of a question mark laying beside it. There was no other physical evidence present.

And now before him sat Edward Nigma, nursing a beer in a beat up old bar in West Harlow down the street from the seedy motel at which he was staying and casually filling in a crossword puzzle he had spread out in front of him.

Bruce hadn't been able to dig up much on the man. He'd been correct in his hunch about Boston, the police there had had a file on him. A very thin file.

The man had never been charged with a crime, not even a misdemeanor, but he was suspected to be complicit in the deaths of eight people linked to Boston's Irish mob families. If you read between the lines you could tell that the number was likely much, much higher than that. That seemed to be the only pattern in the murders, a conspicuous lack of any evidence. Thus the confusion at Nigma's apparent lack of care for his own operational secrecy.

The killings linked to him, including so not much more than rumors, included methods that ran the gamut. Everything from long range rifle shots to explosives and poisonings had been found bearing the small green question marks.

Apparently the man was multi-talented, possible military training?

No alias other than, _T__he Riddler_, which he apparently hated, because of his love for puzzles and word games. They went on to speculate that Nigma was extremely intelligent and calculating, but no known history of any formal schooling had come up in any research. In fact, there was no history at all for any Edward Nigma stretching back any further than six years.

Bruce hadn't missed the reference to _enigma_in his name. Obviously an alias. Apparently the man had an appreciation for puzzles that extended all the way to the fake name he used. Was the name Edward even real?

His target was receiving a call now on the bar phone, the bartender handing the receiver to Nigma after briefly answering it.

Smart.

Bruce could tap into most of the cell phone carriers in the area and find records if he had a little information to go on. He couldn't listen into the conversation going on below without having a physical tap in place, which he didn't, much less track the person on the other end of the call. The loud music thumping inside also made it impossible to overhear even Edward's side of the conversation.

Definitely not stupid then.

The call didn't last long, less than a minute, when Nigma tossed the phone back to the bartender and nodded in thanks. He dropped a few bills next to his empty glass before gathering up the old, weathered green beanie on the counter next to him and the dirty olive overcoat draped over the back of his stool, making for the back entrance on the other side of the building.

Odd that he'd choose that for his exit. That entrance opened up onto the service drive for the building, a darkened alley that was meant for deliveries and trash pick-up. The main entrance opened up on to the relatively well lit street that Bruce had been concentrating on.

No matter, this move benefited him. The deserted, dimly lit corridor Nigma was heading for was a vastly superior place for him to...have a sudden chat with the Batman.

Bruce moved quickly into position, placing himself on the edge of the roof halfway between the bar's door and where the alley would spill out on to the nearest street. He didn't have to wait long for his quarry to emerge.

The Riddler wasn't really much to look at. In his early forties and probably only five foot eight on his best day the man's delicate, beanpole skinny frame certainly didn't project the aura of a cold blooded killer. His police record, though, definitely contradicted that impression. Nigma was dressed simply enough, dark pants and dark shirt, the dirty green skullcap sitting slightly cockeyed over the greasy mop of reddish hair atop his head. He'd been chain smoking all night, something he didn't seem apt to quit now as he lazily puffed on yet another cigarette, shifting the coat he still carried into his other hand.

Despite his casual and almost sloppy walk his eyes remained vigilant, continuously scanning the dark recesses around him and even glancing several times towards the rooftops on either side.

About ten yards shy of were Bruce intended to make a dramatic, and hopefully sudden, introduction the small man stopped and dropped the butt of his cigarette, grinding it into the ground with the toe of his well worn boot absently. In a practiced motion he quickly had another one perched between his lips tilting his head down to light it.

"Might as well come down here," Nigma suddenly muttered, not even bothering to look up as he finished lighting his smoke. "I know you're up there somewhere."

Bruce didn't move. Whether it was his training kicking in or simply his surprised reaction to the man's statement he didn't know. What he did want to know was how exactly Nigma had done that.

Down on the street the man grinned, almost as if he'd heard Bruce's thoughts.

"You're good, I'll give you that. Almost missed you up there in the shadows." The Riddler looked up for the first time, searching the buildings for Bruce. "Fortunately I know what to look for."

From his wandering gaze he obviously didn't know exactly where in the shadows Bruce was crouched, watching him. Nigma must have spotted him across the street, before he'd left the bar. Maybe the phone call he'd received? A spotter? He simply knew that the Batman was here...somewhere. Either way, that meant that Bruce wouldn't be getting the element of surprise tonight.

He may as well still talk to the man though, something could still be salvaged and there was the chance, however slight, that he could still be intimidated into revealing something worthwhile.

Bruce allowed himself to land loudly for once, directly behind the diminutive man, rising to his full height and wrapping his cape protectively around him as the man slowly and deliberately turned around.

Even the sudden appearance hadn't been enough to garner a reaction.

"Ah, was wondering when I'd get to meet you." He clapped his hands in excitement, looking him up and down. "You sure don't disappoint, do you?"

Bruce just stood silently, coolly watching him. The credit card had obviously been intentional. Anyone clever enough to spot him coming had to be smart enough to know that it would have left a trail obvious enough to put the yellow brick road to shame. It was bait...left to draw out anyone that might be after him.

Bait Bruce had eagerly taken.

"You didn't know anyone was after you," Bruce growled.

"Ah, but now I do, don't I?"

Nigma, apparently not one to appreciate awkward silences, quickly continued.

"I have to say, I was a bit nervous coming to play in your backyard. What you've been doing here has been fun to watch, but to actually come here..." He stopped and took a drag from his cigarette. "I like the cape by the way." He waited a second and shrugged at the lack of reaction from the hulking man in black. "Anyway, I'm a man that likes himself a good challenge. Matching wits with a worthy adversary and all that crap. You," he said pointing at Bruce, "are gonna be fun."

"This isn't a game."

"Oh, but of course it is. Everything is." He spread his arms out wide theatrically. "Life is all one big game, one big puzzle. Might as well have fun playing it my mom always said."

Bruce just remained silent again, content to let Nigma ramble on and fill the silence. Apparently, for now, the man wasn't feeling like it though.

"Well? You _were _looking for me. And here I am."

This whole encounter had thrown Bruce, making him uneasy. When he questioned suspects he usually dictated the meeting, able to capitalize on surprise and their terror to his advantage. Nigma seemed calm about the whole thing, even excited to see him. It was decidedly disconcerting.

"Kazan."

"Aye."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "You murdered him."

"Awww, c'mon," he chided, "where's the playful banter? The back and forth? The thinly veiled accusations? This is really the best you've got?"

"You. Murdered. Him," Bruce growled slowly, letting the malice drip from every word.

"Says you. Now I dare you to prove it." Nigma sucked in another lungful of smoke before continuing with a wink and a grin. "It was a pretty shot though, right?"

Deep down Bruce knew The Riddler was baiting him, trying to garner some kind of reaction from him by making light of the Ukrainians demise. He was simply too tired to care. Too tired and far too frustrated with being unable to stop anything that seemed to be going on around him.

Before the smaller man could even react Bruce had closed the distance with Nigma and lifted him, turning and slamming his back against the bare, dingy brick wall of the building behind him. He brought his face in close, trying to reign in his anger and fury before continuing.

The random thought that he could break the little man in half flashed briefly across his mind, but was quickly dismissed.

"This. Is. _Not. _A Game," he snarled.

Nigma didn't blink, he just looked defiantly back, an evil smirk barely touching one corner of his mouth.

"So, what...you're gonna kill me now?" Bruce didn't back down, matching the other man's glare. But he didn't...he couldn't say anything in response. The Riddler, though, ever the talker, didn't hesitate. "Ah, not a killer then, are you?" He was smirking now, a look that was as infuriating as it was off-putting. "Didn't take you for one, despite what some may say. Guess I had you pegged right, huh?"

Bruce slowly lowered him back to the ground and let go of his shirt, still looming over him, but now trying to keep suppress the look of surprise Nigma had almost managed to elicit.

The ragged little man feigned brushing himself back off before looking back towards him. "Glad to see I was right," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "So, who _did _kill Maroni and that lawyer then? At least one cop too, if memory serves. That riddle's been banging around in my skull for weeks. If it wasn't you and it wasn't the Joker..."

"How?"

"Ah." Nigma's eyes lit up at the question, enticed by the opportunity to show off. "Simple really. You'd never killed anyone before. In all the death and destruction that goes on in this godforsaken place night after night you were...well, clean. Not Falcone, not a single one of his men, not Crane...not even the Joker." He trailed off, smirking proudly at Bruce. "It just figures, ya know. You were a convenient scapegoat and they tossed the blame your way. Let's face it, you're not exactly in a position to argue or defend yourself. Masks have a way of doing that, you know?"

It really was that simple. How was it that a slightly demented hitman was the only one to give the Batman the benefit of the doubt? He dismissed that train of thought quickly as something to consider later. At the moment he needed to regain some measure of control over his current conversation.

"Why kill Kazan?"

The Riddler's eyebrows crept up his forehead in amusement. "You're kidding, right? You mean besides the fact that he was a bloody fool? Guess you didn't hear, he killed a bunch of kids in..."

"We both know he didn't." It was a guess on Bruce's part that Nigma would be aware of that, but it was a guess that was calculated to elicit a response one way or the other, even if it was simply surprise.

But The Riddler wasn't surprised. Not in the least.

"Bravo, sir," Nigma said. He softly clapped his hands a couple of times, giving the wholehearted impression of being honestly impressed with his rival's conclusion. "Already started down the rabbit hole, I see. And what, pray tell, can you infer about Kazan from that little tidbit?"

Bruce remained silent, thinking. He did not enjoy being led along by the man. It was unfamiliar territory...just like everything that was happening at the moment. Nigma obviously enjoyed making his opponent feel inferior, reveling in his superior knowledge. In his own way, though, he was providing some new information and confirming at least one suspicion. Bruce could play along, despite the growing desire to break the smug man's nose.

"He was set up," Bruce said, the familiar gravelly voice rumbling deep in his throat. "The shooting in the park, it practically guaranteed the end result. Someone wanted him dead."

"So, riddle me this then. Who stands to gain the most from the godforsaken bastard's unfortunate passing?"

It was plainly bait again. Nigma seemed to enjoy being the smarter man, or at least relished being more well informed. Smug in his superior intelligence. That meant that the obvious answer wouldn't be correct, which was telling in its own right. Apparently Sean Riley didn't have the most to gain from Marko's death even though he'd supposedly ordered it. That meant he'd been played too. This was getting more complicated.

The Odessa Crime Family wasn't dead by any means, but they were beheaded...leaderless. With his son's passing last month its successor would be unclear, making their territory ripe for the picking as the infighting commenced. Sabatino was too far away to swoop in, located far to the south. It would leave his territory fractured and difficult to protect. That left...

"Black Mask," Bruce growled.

Someone else, not the Ukrainians, had killed those Italians in the park. Someone else, not the Irish, stood to benefit from the uncertainty the death of Kazan had created. There was a void now in Gotham's power structure. A hole that someone would almost assuredly move quickly to fill.

Nigma thinly smiled at him, outwardly pleased that he hadn't taken the more obvious, but incorrect route. "Well, we might make a good detective out of you yet," he said. "But that just leaves more questions. Doesn't it? The more you uncover, the less seems to be revealed."

"What's his role in this? Why not just kill Marko himself?"

The Riddler smiled, his lips parting to reveal dull, tar stained teeth. "And that there's the puzzle, isn't it?"

"You're not going to tell me?"

Nigma rolled his eyes. "I'm playful, not stupid. Did you really think I'd give away the ending and spoil it for everyone? No, no, no...," he quipped, shaking his finger back and forth in Bruce's face as emphasis, "you get to figure it out. Just. Like. Everybody. Else. Or you can just sit and wait for the finale like the rest of this city. Although I think we both know that's not really your...style." He grinned again and threw Bruce a small salute. "Listen, it's been fun...really. Unfortunately, I've got some prior commitments to attend to and you know how that is."

With that, he turned and walked away, softly whistling a tune to himself as he headed for the street.

It left Bruce to stand there powerlessly, his fists clenched at his sides, watching helplessly as the man in the green beanie casually turned the corner and disappeared. The trail that had lead to the Flaming Arrow withered and died that night. Nigma disappeared into the welcoming arms of Gotham's streets.

* * *

><p>The elegant, ancient brownstone was in an upper class neighborhood of Gotham. One of those distinguished, tree lined areas where the older money of the city tended to set their roots. That group of people that either wanted to stay in the city or couldn't yet afford the move across the river into the Palisades.<p>

It was an area usually absent of crime. Despite the wealth in these places, the security and police protection was almost always better than everywhere else. A combination of factors that tended to discourage the majority of criminals that still hadn't attained the sophistication to operate in such a locale. It was just a simple fact in Gotham that the more money you possessed, the more untouchable you generally were.

Like most rules there were exceptions. Thomas and Martha Wayne were glaring examples of just how true that adage could be. Tonight, you could add Herbert and Elizabeth Wallace to that list.

Detective Renee Montoya ducked as a uniformed officer held up the yellow police tape at the front door to the home for her. First day back on the job...first hour even, and she was already walking into the scene of a double homicide.

Sometimes she thought she needed her head examined for willingly becoming a cop in this city.

Gordon had offered her several days off after the whole Kazan incident and she'd gladly accepted. Facing death on a daily basis and possibly having to take some stranger's life were factors she'd accepted about her job. Cops learned to compensate and address such issues, especially those in Gotham. Watching someone have his head blown off less than two feet away while skirting her own demise by an inch and a half was something nobody should ever have to deal with.

Not to mention the job it did on her wardrobe.

Against Gordon's protests though she was back on the job only a week after being showered by blood and brain matter.

She paused in the entry hall looking over the framed pictures of a seemingly happy, devoted couple and their equally smiling extended family. A graceful wooden staircase rose up to her immediate left to the next floor while a large, open portal led into a well appointed living room on her right. Straight ahead, continuing down the darkened hall was where she could see the other officers and investigators gathered, the lights of the kitchen and dining room ablaze.

Setting her shoulders and taking a deep breath she walked into the familiar swirling chaos the was any murder scene.

Harvey Bullock was leaning against the door frame when she entered, his unshaven face lightening a tiny amount when he noticed her in the opening. The jerky nod he offered was probably about the most emotion and happiness Renee could expect from the gruff lieutenant.

The murder scene in front of her was surprisingly...gentle. No blood, no hints of violence, nothing broken or otherwise astray in the bright, cheerfully appointed kitchen. Zoning Commissioner Herbert Wallace and his wife were merely slumped over in their chairs across from one another, their faces serene but vacant. If it wasn't for the dark, nearly black, discoloration to their lips and open, unblinking eyes they could very easily have just been asleep.

"Evening Lieutenant." She casually walked up and turned back towards the group of medical examiners.

"Montoya."

"Poison?" The question was directed at Bullock, despite the fact that she was still going over everything in detail in front of her with her eyes.

Harvey grunted appreciatively at her deduction. "Yeah, gotta be the same one as Councilman Vargas with the lips thing. Guess that means we've got another serial killer in this charming little town of ours. Gordon will be happy to hear that."

Montoya sighed. That was all they needed. "I swear to god, there must be something in the water here," she grumbled. "It seems like we attract them."

"Like a moth to flame," he snorted.

"Guess we should just be happy we're popular, huh?" Neither of them laughed at the lame attempt at humor, settling instead to watch a fingerprint technician scrub the silverware for prints. Finally, when the man moved on to one of the other place settings Montoya turned to the older man. "Anything interesting?"

Bullock finally turned to the younger detective, subtly switching to his more professional persona in front of her. "Found a couple of red hairs again, same as last time. No sign of forced entry and nothing obvious stolen. We got ahold of their son and he's going to ID them and make an inventory of the house after we've gotten the bodies out. Other than that, zilch."

"Anything on the son or anyone else that could benefit from their death?"

"Nah. Whole bunch of em are wealthy and clean. No hidden debts or questionable affiliations that we've been able to dig up yet. From what I've seen, none of their kids had any motive for any of this." He waved his hands to include the scene in front of them. "Gut tells me this is something else, but we'll dig at em a bit anyway."

"First a City Councilman and now a Zoning Commissioner. Could this be something political?" she wondered aloud, more to herself than to anyone in particular.

Harvey had looked back to watch the technicians again when he'd finished his rundown but glanced at her out of the corner of her eye when she began talking to herself. "Wouldn't be the first time these dumbasses managed to step into something that got them in over their head." He nodded though as he ran the thoughts through his head. "Something to look into though. See if there's some sorta connection between the two."

Montoya nodded. At least it gave them a direction. Barely.

The analysis done on the poison from the first murder had come back inconclusive. It was organic, but not identifiable through any of the normal databases, a fact that was decidedly unusual. Apparently it took great skill and perseverance to develop a new poisonous substance. Especially one that was unlike anything seen or catalogued before in medicine. The doctors at Gotham University that the police regularly consulted had been downright stunned by it, giddy in that weird way men of their profession could be in light of a new, albeit deadly, discovery. It was becoming plainly clear that Crane had been a special brand of crazy, one that possessed a similar amount of intelligence and madness.

After the murder of the Wallace's it was also obvious that he wasn't alone in that respect.

That just added to the already long list of questions. Questions without even the barest hint of an answer.

Vargas' cause of death had been labeled as acute organ and systematic neural failure due to absorption of an unknown biologically derived neurotoxin. Montoya had actually had to call and have that explained to her by the medical examiner. In the end it simply meant that he'd been killed by a poison absorbed through his lips that had quickly worked to shut down his body, killing him. Certainly a unique weapon, one that looked as though it had probably made another appearance, but one that was also going to be incredibly tricky to track down. The list of people and places capable of such a thing probably wouldn't be long, but it promised to be well hidden.

She ran her hands through her hair as she watched one worker snap pictures of fingernails of the victims.

As if Gotham's assorted murderers and crazies needed new ways to kill people. For most getting shot, stabbed, or run over was more than enough. Even crazies like the Joker generally agreed with the simple, tried and true methods. Now there were those out there poisoning people with an untraceable toxin or putting a bullet through somebody's head from almost a half mile away.

Just another, headache inducing day at Major Crimes she silently mused.

"You see Ramirez on your way in?"

"What? No," Montoya said, confused. She almost turned in reaction to look back down the darkened hallway.

"Yeah, she was already here when I arrived, looking around," Bullock snorted. "No idea how or why, but I promptly booted her ass the hell outta here. Figured you might have seen her on your way in."

Renee just shook her head. Why the hell would the infamous outcast detective be at a crime scene that she would never have been called into in a million years? "Maybe she's working a case that she thinks might be related?"

Harvey grunted again in thought. The man practically had a vocabulary of guttural noises and snorts so long as one knew what to listen for. "Doubt it. She may have been a pretty decent detective, but she's firmly on the Commissioner's shit list. There's no way he lets her anywhere near something this high profile."

Montoya knew the rumors about Anna Ramirez. One of the bright up-and-comers in Major Crimes before the whole Joker incident, she'd just as quickly plummeted back down to earth. Nobody knew the truth or at least whatever truth Gordon was privy to. Rumors around the precinct ran the spectrum from corruption to breaking off an affair with the Commissioner. Either way, she was just window dressing now, a pretty face that collected a paycheck and was allowed to do little else.

Bullock grunted again when he saw the confusion that was still etched on her young face. "Yeah, I don't get it either, but whatever."

* * *

><p>AN: Thoughts on my Riddler? Very curious to see what everyone thinks as he is a bit of a departure. My vision? A grizzled and disheveled chain smoking Jackie Earle Haley. There will be no camp here...the man is smart and lethal.

Thank you to all who have favorited or subscribed to this story. Please take the time to let me know how things are coming. I might decide to get writer's block otherwise.


	9. Chapter 9

_If you enjoyed this or any of the previous chapters, please take a second and send the author a review. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets them know you care._

_First and foremost, I want to take the time to thank all of those who took the time to leave a review. I appreciate and learn from each and every one. You guys rule.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The night air always did wonders to clear her mind. Cool and refreshing, it always allowed her to lose herself in the moment, letting the adrenaline and excitement take over and push away all the distractions that routinely cluttered her mind. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes as a soft breeze carried up the smells of one of the glitzy restaurants below. At the very least she could momentarily forget that damn charming smile that had been occupying her thoughts lately.<p>

Selina growled under her breath and opened her eyes.

All she'd done was have two brief conversations with the man, dammit. A man that was sure to be just as egotistical and self centered as all the rest of her marks. That's what she kept reminding herself anyways, creating a silent mantra in the back of her head.

Trouble was, she wasn't really thinking of him as a mark.

Marks she could handle. The lying and the manipulation came almost second nature at this point, twisting the poor men around her finger. Bruce Wayne was occupying a place in her mind that promised a great deal more complication and trouble. Things she'd sworn off on long ago.

Brandon Thorne, now _he_ was a mark. One that left her feeling as though she needed a lengthy shower following any time she spent in his presence. God, it seemed like they always did. Thank god _he_ hadn't been handsy at least. That likely would have driven her over the edge.

Thank god it was finally over too.

Selina had told him exactly that late the day before, ahead of their next scheduled date. Lacking any desire to see the man any more than necessary she'd practically raced to end it rather than be forced to endure his company again. Thorne hadn't taken it well. It was a reaction that Selina had obtained a small measure of enjoyment and a smug little sense of satisfaction from.

Now that the information gathering portion was over though, the job really began. At least, the part that wasn't actually work. The part she actually enjoyed. The one that found her hurdling ventilation ducting and ascending drainage pipes on the rooftops of Gotham and that, in time, bring her to that secret little safe that Rupert Thorne thought nobody else knew about.

Of course it had been nothing but a whisper before Selina had cozied up to Brandon. Just the barest hints of rumor and gossip. He'd provided the first concrete evidence she'd been able to find and she culled every last detail she could during their extremely brief relationship. It really was amazing what a man would do to gain favor with a beautiful woman once she'd batted her eyelashes at him.

Especially one that was as stupid and as big a screw-up as Thorne was.

She dropped from the railing that she'd been perched on and smoothly transitioned into a roll as soon as her feet met the roof below her, allowing her momentum to carry her, sliding along under a raised air conditioner unit before her momentum brought her to the lip of the building...and a twenty story drop. She was back on her feet before she'd even come to a complete stop, crouching at the edge with both hands gripping the shingled roof.

She'd been on the hunt for Rupert Thorne's little stash of secrets ever since she'd arrived in Gotham City. Ever since her last mark, Eddie, had let slip its existence back in Chicago. It took her two weeks after arriving in the city to establish herself and gain the lay of the land. Three weeks to learn the players and track their movements and habits.

Her first major setback lost her two weeks when she failed to insert herself into Rupert's life. Apparently, she just wasn't what he looked for in one of his mistresses. She didn't possess the complexion or features from a certain part of the world that he greatly appreciated.

Following that it had been another month to learn everything there was to know about Brandon Thorne and work her way into his good graces between occasionally sneaking into places she was most certainly not supposed to be in.

Ingratiating herself with the young heir hadn't been hard. She was well aware of her effect on men. Well...most men.

It had taken longer than she would have liked, but eventually Brandon slipped up one night after more drinks than was probably healthy or polite. The little something extra that Selina had slipped in to help speed him along had certainly not helped his sobriety.

She took a moment to tighten the snug climbing harness that she wore over the top of her usual form fitting kevlar and leather bodysuit. As good with her equipment as she was she was also constantly double checking it. It was a nervous thing she did that she'd come to accept a long time ago. A way to redirect her energy away from the butterflies that could accumulate in her stomach before any risky job. She figured an extra layer of vigilance never hurt anyone.

Satisfied that the small pouches containing her equipment were secure on her belt and her trusty bullwhip was tight around her waist she pulled her goggles back down over her eyes from where she'd momentarily slid them over top of the hood on her head, taking an extra moment to stick the small earbuds into place from where they'd been hanging around her neck. Selina took a deep breath, closing her eyes and letting it slowly back out as she calmed herself and let the heavy bass wash over her.

Time to go to work.

She grinned, braced her hands on the ledge and vaulted herself into the chill night air, falling twenty invigorating feet to where the bundle of wires she had targeted separated from a transformer mounted on the side of the building. Her hands, sure as ever, grasped it cleanly, muscle memory taking over at the familiar action. Selina allowed her momentum transform from the downward trajectory of her fall and into a fluid swing, her body arcing out from the cable and back twice. Once steady she quickly folded her legs over it and began the time consuming task of moving hand over hand to the roof of the next building. Beyond that, just to the east, lay the dark glass edifice of the Kane Building, headquarters of Thorne Industries' business empire.

Once past the final rooftop she silently dropped back down to ground level. Unlike some of her previous performances this one wasn't going to contain a great deal more of her high flying antics. It was necessary. Gotham was so heavily built up that buildings were often almost right on top of one another, sometimes even sharing a common wall. It was an ideal location for her. The close proximity greatly enhanced her agility and stealth, enabling her to strike from angles not considered normally viable.

A building might be well designed. It might be well thought out and constructed even. A work of art or mastery of human ingenuity. It would also _always _be vulnerable. Outside some bank buildings or high end museums most architects simply didn't consider their creations from the thief's point of view. It really was a shame.

The Kane Building wasn't just another building in Gotham though. Like Wayne Tower and several other prominent buildings it was it's own city block, separated from every surrounding structure by the width of the street and a pedestrian plaza that circled the building. Barring a launcher to get a cable over (too loud), a glider (too bulky), or simply flying on over (yeah...right) it required something that began from a slightly lower elevation.

So, a simple stealth entry it would be. Nevermind the security codes, the guards, the locked down doors and elevators, the multiple exterior cameras...Selina was headed for the exhaust vent of one of two heating and air conditioning ducts that exited the building on the roof of the soaring three story lobby. The two ducts were the only pair, save the four that exited on the roof, forty-five stories above, that wouldn't lead her directly into the building's furnace.

Her goal, once inside the building's arteries, was to scamper the thirty yards to the express elevator shaft and shimmy up to the top floor, and Rupert Thorne's executive suite. She had it all timed exactly and planned down to the minute. Fifteen minutes for the duct, two and a half hours for the access ladder in the elevator shaft, counting breaks for her sure to be screaming muscles, two minutes for the door, and, barring a damn retinal scanner, another fifteen minutes for the safe. She'd be done in under three hours...in and out.

Simple really. Of course, the reality was that there wouldn't be anything remotely simple about the tight fit and crushing claustrophobia that she'd endure in the ducting. Good times, as usual.

* * *

><p>The door lock lasted thirty seconds. Selina smirked in triumph at the telltale click from within the mechanism, she was ahead of schedule.<p>

Rupert Thorne's executive office was, appropriately enough, equal in scale to his massive ego, taking up almost a quarter of the top floor of the building. Selina's entire suite could probably fit inside it with room to spare. The entire north and east facing walls were tinted glass, providing a spectacular one hundred eighty degree view of Gotham City and the nearby Atlantic Ocean.

She moved quickly, gliding past a large entertainment center with it's plush couches and complicated electronics around behind the enormous hand carved desk with a very specific target in mind. In the far corner, wedged between the large windows and an ornate, well stocked liquor cabinet was a square granite planter box with some sort of large drooping palm rising elegantly out of it.

Selina allowed herself a deep breath. Her intel had better be right. She had no intention of crawling back to Brandon and starting back at square one again. It was a strange enough hiding place to be the truth though. She'd broken into this same office months ago in a fruitless search for the very safe she was now returning to find, checking every hiding place she could think of. Even breaking into the small, not-so-well hidden vault in the wall behind the charming little Monet. She'd come up frustratingly empty handed that night, but she'd never thought to check the houseplants. Who would?

She knelt at its base, removing the headphones for the more sensitive portion of tonight's mission. As usual, she prayed for anything but a retinal scanner. The stupid things were damn near impossible to beat unless one didn't mind getting a bit...messy. Selina tended to draw the line at plucking some poor sucker's eyeball out of his head.

The planter was low to the ground though. Thorne's laziness was playing into her hands. He almost assuredly wouldn't want to bend down so low to get his eye down to that level. A good sign.

A panel slid out of place easily at her touch exposing the small, dull gray metal door of a small lockbox. A lockbox that featured a simple, traditional combination dial. A confident smirk pulled at Selina's lips as she got to work, reaching down to open one of her pouches. Child's play.

* * *

><p>An almost inaudible click marked the successful action of the third and final tumbler falling into place fifteen minutes after she'd begun. Selina unclipped the audio enhancement equipment she'd attached to the safe's door, breaking each piece down into its basic components and stowing them back in their proper places. With unhurried motions she turned the handle and exposed the hidden contents to the darkened room.<p>

She wasn't expecting much. Information could be stored in any number of ways these days in steadily shrinking formats. The disc and pair of flash drives that greeted her eyes were more than enough to bring hope where once it had been dwindling. Another waypoint on her long, winding path to the truth, or at least she prayed it would be, once she saw what was contained on them.

She palmed the storage devices, tucking them all away in secure, secret pockets on the inside of her suit, before moving on to the rest of the safe's contents. An envelope of photos showing various men in...compromising situations with scantily clad ladies. Blackmail material from the looks of it. Selina put it back and moved on. A small, black address book containing quite a few numbers attached to men with Italian surnames. Probably Thorne's mob contacts or something along those lines. Others would probably love to see this. She wasn't interested.

The only other items were two long, thin velvet boxes that were instantly familiar to someone who routinely made off into the night bearing others' jewelry...necklace boxes. The simple white gold chains featured a very healthy pattern of diamonds along its length. Two identical necklaces, each containing at least eight carats of the precious gem. Selina released a low whistle as she threw the boxes back inside minus their cargo.

"Guess I didn't credit Rupert for having enough good taste," Selina said softly to herself as she clicked the door shut before sliding the panel back into place. Assuming they were legitimate - and based on the fact that they were found in his hidden safe she assumed they were - they'd set he up nicely for months.

"Who are you?" said a gravelly voice behind her, startling her and cutting into thoughts. A voice that came from someone obviously located mere feet away. Far too close for anything that even remotely resembled comfort.

Selina's eyes went wide behind her goggles and she froze, arm still outstretched toward the planter. How in the hell had someone managed to catch her so off-guard and how in the hell had they managed to get so close with no warning?

Without thinking, operating purely on instinct she lashed out, pivoting in a flash on her right knee and sending her left leg spinning back, intending for her boot to meet the approximate spot from which the words had been uttered.

It never even got close.

Instead it met an expertly placed, armored forearm that redirected her blow up and away while the assailant simultaneously gave the leg a small shove. Just enough to shift her equilibrium awkwardly.

Selina was fast, but by the time she regained her balance and shifted back into her fighting stance he had moved two feet back, outside her striking range. Damn if he wasn't fast.

"_Don't._"

It wasn't said as a threat, not really. More like a guarantee of what would happen if she continued down this path - a warning. It was still ominous and intimidating as hell, but that was more because of who it was than the words themselves.

The Batman.

Crap. Only her second job in this city and she was already bumping into its most famous resident vigilante. Seriously? This was her luck?

Selina finally took the time to analyze things critically, ever the quick thinker she immediately began drawing what conclusions she could from the well known figure in front of her.

He wasn't in a fighting stance, at least none she'd ever seen. His arms were lowered at his sides almost casually, cape hanging loosely behind him, ruffled slightly by the breeze from an open window. His eyes though were sharp, staring right into hers almost as though he could read her mind. They screamed intelligence and...menace. It practically radiated off him, despite the silence and fairly casual stance.

He didn't need to be ready to fight, that was the point.

Selina wasn't close to what one might consider defenseless. She possessed a natural athleticism and an impressive background in judo which, in combination with her varied experiences in other forms of martial arts, plus an array of acrobatic and gymnastic credentials and a talent for parkour left her plenty formidable. One look at him, however, was all it took to tell her she wasn't in his league.

Given the stories that everyone had heard about him she probably wasn't even close. She simply didn't train to be an expert fighter. Capable? Yes, but hardly an expert. She had many talents and could take on most people in a straight up fight, but this was clearly not one of them. She was, as ever, a thief first and a fighter a distant second...possibly even third or fourth.

Selina relaxed and stood up straight, trying to come across as casually as possible given the circumstances, one hand trailing up to rest on her hip.

"You know, I kinda thought you'd be taller."

That garnered...nothing, no reaction or from him whatsoever. He just continued standing there, half in shadow, quietly observing her. "What are you doing here?"

Selina rolled her eyes behind her goggles. Did that really work in this town? Sure, he was pulling off the all black look well enough and had the whole "intimidating from the shadows" thing down to an art, but what was he expecting? A confession? That she'd just drop to her knees in fear and explain everything to him?

"Me? I'm just here for the view." She hopped up, sitting on the edge of the large wooden desk nearby and crossed her ankles, appearing to stare nonchalantly out the large windows. "You're welcome to join me of course?" she said, patting the empty space on the desk next to her. "I'll be good." Selina winked at him, pausing to see if she could get any reaction from the shadowy figure. Nothing. "Awww...don't be that way. I promise I won't try to kick you again." Another pause followed by nothing but more silence. "Okay, maybe promise is a strong word. I'll...try my best...not to kick you again," Selina said, holding up her fingers in a mocking boy scout's salute as she tried her best to smile at him.

Again, nothing. Was the man made of stone?

"You didn't kick me," he pointed out.

There was the briefest hint of amusement there, a tiny movement on one side of his mouth before his carefully schooled neutral expression returned. Despite watching intently for anything Selina had still almost missed it.

"Maybe I just wanted you to block that one. You know, give you a nice little confidence boost," Selina remarked flippantly. "Sure telegraphed it enough." She was lying of course, silently hoping that he couldn't know that that had been her best attempt at taking his head off.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he growled. "Thorne is not one to take things lightly."

"Jesus, lighten up a little yourself," she muttered, hopping down off the desk and crossing her arms defiantly. "Do you always suck the life right out of a room like this?"

"I'm serious."

"So am I. Someone's gotta let you know what a monumental downer you are." _Still _nothing at all. The man just stood there watching her. Seriously? "Listen, I'm a big girl, Bats. I know what I'm doing. Been pretty damn spectacular at it for some time now."

Without warning he stepped closer, back into her range and out of the darker shadows of the office. Selina tried to hold the aloof posture she'd been sporting before his sudden movement. She probably failed. At least it afforded her her first good view of Gotham's one-time savior. He was tall, actually about as tall as she'd expected. That had been a lie too. It was hard to see much past the obvious armor and cape and...well...ears. Get rid of the theatrically raspy voice and his disinclination to talk in anything but short, abrupt sentences and he might just be cute.

Maybe.

In a delightful "rip off your arm and beat you with it" kind of way.

He'd been holding himself so rigidly and still that the sudden movement caused by a minute shake of his head almost surprised her. "You haven't seen something like this, trust me."

That caused her to cock one of her eyebrows under her goggles, angling her head to the side slightly in response. "You're kidding, right? Trust you? The man that dresses up like a flying rodent?" It was her turn to advance on him, an action that made him noticeably tense further. She circled him deliberately, smirking at him playfully from underneath her hood and goggles. "Listen, we both know you can't arrest me. What's a little breaking and entering among friends anyway? So, unless you're planning on beating me into a bloody pulp I'd prefer not to miss anymore of my beauty sleep."

She'd managed to saunter most of the way around him while she spoke as he pivoted in place, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on her every movement. The distraction of her movements and words expertly employed to get her ever closer to her goal.

"I'd say this has been a pleasure, but we both know I'd be lying." She paused in front of the open window he must have entered through. "Well, _this _has certainly been a different experience. Good luck doing...whatever...it is you do and let's be _sure_ not do this again. A girl could get a reputation."

And so she fell, dropping backwards out the still open window in one fluid movement, a grin appearing on her face as soon as she hit the night air. As far as dramatic exits went, that one wasn't half bad.

The window washing platform was still in the same position it had been earlier when she'd double checked, groaning in protest as the addition of her weight slammed into it. As planned, the brakes gave immediately, releasing the platform to descend at a quick, but controlled speed. Two stories above the lobby she gripped the guardrail and threw herself over tucking into a roll as she hit the ground and rising immediately to her feet as she ran for the edge, a quick exit and safe journey home quickly appearing before her eyes.

The semi hadn't been planned, but winners didn't frown at opportunities fate sent their way and Selina was certainly no loser. She jumped, dropping expertly to the roof of the trailer and looked back up at the rapidly receding Kane Building, ready to send out a mocking salute to the now tiny upper floor window and celebrate a job completed.

The wide black shape floating in her direction a good thirty or more stories up stilled her.

"Oh, right...cause of _course _he can fly," she muttered, rolling her eyes and resigning herself to another meeting with the ever cheerful Batman.

He landed surprisingly softly considering his size and the speed at which he'd descended, wrapping himself back in his cape protectively. It was all more than a little surreal, like something a movie couldn't even make realistic, but here he was standing in front of her as their ride slowly made its way through the relatively quiet streets of Gotham's Business District.

Selina shrugged. "Well, it was worth a try." Was that a flicker of amusement she saw for a split second in his eyes? Another slight twitch at the corner of his mouth?

"Who are you?"

"Seriously?" she scoffed. "We're back to this? That's the best you can come up with?" Selina crossed her arms across her chest in frustration and mock glared at her intruder. "You're a real people person, aren't you?" It came as no surprise when there was no response. Witty banter didn't seem to be one of his better attributes. She needed to get out of here and away from him with her precious cargo intact. Selina huffed and let out a loud, theatrical sigh, keeping her arms tightly crossed. "Alright, fine. I heard a rumor about this secret little stash Thorne kept in his office somewhere and wanted to take a look for myself. You know, see if there was anything worth my effort. There was some books and pictures and these..."

Selina reached into one of her pouches and produced two pieces of costume jewelry she routinely carried in case a diversion was necessary. Before tonight, She'd never actually needed to use them.

It was a calculated gamble on her part, hoping that the Batman wasn't actually interested in bringing her to justice for a little larceny. His reputation was built more on stopping violent crimes than those that were relatively victimless. As far as Selina knew he wasn't exactly running around putting on end to insider trading scandals or insurance scams.

God, she also really hoped he couldn't recognize fake gems.

Apparently she wasn't too far off base because he seemed to look slightly conflicted as he took the glittering objects from her to study them, splitting his attention briefly from her to the trinkets. At least Selina thought he might be conflicted. The man was damn tough to read.

"How'd you know I was there anyway?" She needed to keep him busy. It was unlikely he'd realize the jewels were fake on the back of a bouncing semi in the relative darkness, but she preferred not to take the chance. It was pretty obvious that he wasn't someone to underestimate.

The Batman glanced back up at her and hesitantly tossed the necklace and bracelet back her way. "Thorne will be looking for those." He reached under his cape and came up with a strange looking handgun. Before Selina could even think to fear for her life he was turning to leave.

"Wait? You're giving them back?" The surprise in her voice made the dark figure half turn back to face her.

"Not worth my time."

"Ever the charmer. You sure know how to make a woman feel special." The Batman turned to go again, raising the weapon at a passing building. "Come on, professional courtesy," Selina laughed, "How'd you know I was there?"

"You're not the only one interested in Rupert Thorne," he admitted, never turning back to face her. The noise from his gun was lost in the swirling wind as he rocketed up and away into the darkness.

"God! Cryptic much?" she shouted at his rapidly shrinking form. One hand found the slight bumps of the flash drives under the fabric of her catsuit, noting their outlines with relief, as the other absently dropped the two pieces of costume jewelry back where she gotten them. Turning back towards the buildings passing quietly to her right Selina freed up her bull whip and began eyeing the passing light poles. "Jerk," she muttered under her breath as she snapped the whip out with a crack and a flick of the wrist.

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><p>AN: _Drop me a review and let me know what you think of our first look at Selina in action. How do you like her character? How did you like their interaction? She's not really Catwoman quite yet...key word being **yet. ** It will come...in time...**  
><strong>_


	10. Chapter 10

_And I've made it into double digit chapters thanks to all the motivation I get from you guys.  
><em>

_If you enjoyed this or any of the previous chapters, please take a second and send the author a review. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets them know you care._

_First and foremost, I want to take the time to thank all of those who took the time to leave a review. I appreciate and learn from each and every one. You guys rule.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

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><p>The search program beeped twice to acknowledge its task completed. It was a strange, shrill, reverberating sound in the near silence that filled the cave. A silence normally broken only be the steady dripping and rushing of water, the anxious chirps of its natural, furry inhabitants, and the clicking of keyboards by its more unnatural ones.<p>

With a click Bruce minimized the other active windows and enlarged the results, quickly letting out the breath he'd been unknowingly holding in exasperation at the highlighted results.

_No matches found. _

He'd been trying everything he could think of to gain insight into exactly who or what this Black Mask, but had very little to show for it. Little, hell, there was simply nothing to find. The man was a ghost, an urban myth. Even the Batman wasn't this well cloaked in secrecy and mystery. Grainy, distorted pictures of Gotham's infamous enforcer _did _exist out there in the ether, captured by some lurking photographer as Bruce's alter ego flashed by. How was it then that not even a conspiratorial blog site came up in reference to his current searches? The figure that was likely responsible for the cold, calculated killings in Robinson Park as well as the precision assassination of Marko Kazan seconds after he emerged from hiding and there was literally nothing out there for Bruce to dig up.

Other than the commonly held knowledge that Black Mask controlled the northernmost sections of Gotham nobody seemed to know anything about him. Nobody the Batman had questioned had ever seen him or anyone that worked for him. One thing that was definite was the sense of fear that they all shared of the shadowy figure. A greater fear than they possessed for the Batman judging by their unwillingness to talk.

"This is getting us nowhere," Bruce groaned as he pushed himself back from the monitors. "Am I completely off base here, Alfred?"

The older man looked over from where he'd been dutifully watching one of the screens at the other work station. "You're asking if taking the word of a rather enthusiastic murderer-for-hire at face value is a good idea? Personally, I'm not sure why on Earth you'd think that he could be anything but genuine, sir."

"A fact that you've done well to remind me of...repeatedly." Bruce groaned again and ran his hands down his face in frustration. "Even _if _this Black Mask isn't responsible for what's going on I was negligent in not trying to find out more about him while I had the chance. I figured he was the lesser evil at the time, an assumption that may come back to haunt me." He turned back to look at the monitors, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Black Mask, Riddler, this mysterious redheaded murderer, and now this Joker killing...things are getting out of control."

"Odd how they have a way of doing that, Master Wayne. And now the addition of this suspicious cat burglar from the other night as well."

The younger man frowned at his butler. "I seriously doubt she's in the same category as the others. More than likely nothing more than a common thief."

"A common thief?"

"Okay, an exceptional thief," Bruce muttered, "but that's not the point."

"I assume it's your _vast _experience with the fairer sex that gives you such astounding insight into the inner workings of today's modern woman?" Alfred was always fond of poking at Bruce's social life...or lack thereof. "Sir, for all you know she could have plenty of skeletons buried out back under the wood shed. She did choose Mister Thorne's office to rob, did she not?"

"Alright, I'm working on it, Alfred." Bruce keyed in a string of commands to bring up a satellite image of the city, zooming it in to get a good view of the location marked by a pulsing transponder. "The tracking beacon I put on the bracelet is still indicating the same location. I'll get some surveillance in place next time I'm in the area. Until then, she can wait. We're after bigger fish."

"And you're certain that this Mister Nigma didn't imply anything further?"

Bruce looked up at Alfred in confusion. "What do you mean? No...no, I mean...all he linked was Kazan and Black Mask."

"So, what was the motivation to kill all those poor women and children when he's shown that he could easily have had Mister Kazan killed at any time?"

Bruce's brow furrowed. They'd been over this already...multiple times, but he'd humor his butler...again. "He needed enough of a public and private outcry to guarantee Kazan's blame for it. He needed to force someone else to act. Someone that couldn't be traced back to him."

"Perhaps. But could there have been an ulterior motive, sir? A target of opportunity, if you will? Oftentimes the simplest answers look us in the face though we refuse to see them. Perhaps a change of perspective may enlighten us."

"Such as?"

"Could there be a reason to attack the birthday party besides appearing to involve our deceased Ukrainian friend?"

"What? Like they were actually targeting someone specific?"

The older man nodded and turned back to his screens where he'd pulled up the police records of the incident. "We know the only victim of any apparent importance was this Fred Catellano character and even he wasn't anyone high in the organization. The rest were mainly just low level muscle or of the thuggish variety." Several pictures of the deceased from that day flashed across Alfred's screens, their faces stoic and eyes closed.

Bruce jerked thoughtfully and sat up swiftly in his chair. "Wait, I know that guy, Alfred...from that restaurant thing a few months back," he said, busily clicking away at one of the keyboards in front of him. Within seconds another window opened in the upper right screen, the police report and biography of one Frederick Aldo Catellano appearing before Bruce's thoughtful gaze. Sure enough, he'd been briefly detained at _Rizzoli's Ristorante_, an eatery well known to be in Sabatino's pocket, with some of the Italian's upper lieutenants after a police raid. Odd that he'd been in a meeting with such an influential circle of men.

"He wasn't involved with them long," Alfred thought aloud. "The first link the police made was almost seven months ago, so he likely worked for Sabatino for around six."

Bruce noticeably stiffened at that news, his brain racing to make connection. "The bank accounts," he said, staring at Alfred before whipping himself back around to the monitors and opening up a new window in one of the upper screens, furiously navigating their network.

"Sir?"

"We've been keeping an eye on every bank account that we've been able to link with the mob and their affiliates, right?" The older man nodded his awareness.

They'd been continuing the practice ever since the plan to use irradiated bills had stalled. Dozens of banks with dozens more accounts made for a confusing web to crack. Knowledge _was _power though and Bruce was always on the prowl for more, always trying to discover new ways to hurt them.

"Remember, something like six months ago we began to see an influx of cash that we couldn't figure out? It was small amounts at first, in the tens of thousands, but little by little those slowly grew larger." Bruce finished entering his commands as three bank accounts were singled out and brought on to the main screen. "Look at these three, slowly building over time and in steadily growing increments adding up to just over...forty million." Bruce brought up the last month's statement for each of the three. "Notice anything?"

Nothing. Not a single cent had been deposited in the accounts in the last month. The month since the Robinson Park Massacre.

"I'll bet Catellano was an accountant too, wasn't he?" Alfred didn't answer, too busy going back over the tenuous trail his employer had just followed. "It's circumstantial, but it fits. I bet he was the one that was bringing in this money for them. So, the massacre could have been more than just a setup for Kazan. Wipe out Catellano and you're at least starting a war of attrition with the Italians, bleeding them slowly through their bank accounts."

"Then that would mean that this Black Mask fellow has struck at both the Italians and Ukrainians and no one even realizes it." Alfred paused for a moment to think about it. "They're blaming each other and fighting amongst themselves. So far, the Irish are the only ones that haven't come under his fire."

"Do you really expect that to continue?" Alfred didn't say anything, the answer was abundantly clear. The only real questions were when and where. Bruce blew out a long sigh, looking up at the cold steel ceiling of the cave above him. "And now Falcone comes to town and promises to take back the legitimate businesses Sabatino has. Businesses that are Sabatino's only reliable source of income at the moment."

"His timing certainly couldn't be any better then. He'll single-handedly cripple what's left of the Italians."

"Or his timing couldn't be worse." Bruce frowned as he stared off into space, his mind whirring busily away. "The Italians are going to protect what's theirs. Only now they'll be even more desperate to hold on to whatever they have left."

"I see your point, Master Wayne. I do hope Mister Falcone knows what he's getting himself into."

"Do they ever?" Bruce asked, leaning back in his chair and pressing the palms of his hands into his tired eyes. "What about Quinzel?"

Alfred sighed. "More of the same I'm afraid. His influence on the good doctor seems to be growing."

Bruce had placed Alfred in charge of investigating Arkham's Chief Psychologist doctor following her little outburst at the Dent Memorial Gala. At a cursory glance there was nothing much out of the ordinary.

Harleen grew up in rural New York state with her father. Although unpopular socially she excelled scholastically, graduating as her high school's valedictorian. Following that she enrolled at a local college until her father's sudden death her second year, after which she promptly transferred out of state. Quinzel stumbled a bit in school before finishing brilliantly, earning a Bachelor's Degree in Psychology before moving on to a Master's of Applied Behavior Analysis and eventually a Doctorate in Clinical Psychology. She joined the staff at Arkham right out of college, quickly rising in the ranks following Crane's imprisonment.

The Batman, however, rarely stopped at a cursory glance at anything. It was usually what the official records didn't tell one that completed the picture. Bruce had gone the extra step of hacking into her juvenile record as well as any and all police reports linked to her name. They filled in the blanks a bit...differently.

It was putting it mildly to call her father controlling. The relationship didn't appear sexual, but from the time she was born he dominated all aspects of her life. With force if need be. She had no friends or other interactions outside of school and no hobbies besides her scholastic work and caring for him and the household. There were even several police reports detailing responses to reports of domestic disturbances at her home. His death was classified as a suicide, although a look through the evidence was anything but convincing.

Her college records were eerily similar to her younger life. Although finally free of her father she quickly became enamored with an abusive boyfriend, falling quickly back into the same trap. Like before, he managed to control her existence to a frightening degree. Her only escape, again, proved to be her studies. Three times he was charged with battery, but every time she refused to press charges for one reason or another. Bruce was positive that if he dug deeply he'd find rampant infidelity and other abusive behaviors too within their relationship.

A month after the Joker was incarcerated at Arkham Asylum and three and a half weeks after Harleen Quinzel began his treatment her abusive, longtime, live-in boyfriend disappeared off the face of the Earth.

Alfred was now slowly going through the videos of her treatment sessions with the infamous psychopath. Almost eight months of practically daily visits in all. It was an egregious violation of doctor-patient confidentiality that didn't bother Bruce in the least. The Asylum didn't record the sessions for just that reason, but the camera's remained on through the backdoor Lucius was kind enough to provide Bruce. There might be no sound, but the sessions were telling a twisted story all the same.

"She seems quite interested in the man, but as time passes her body language seems to tend more and more towards something...less than professional."

"Romantic interest?" Bruce pushed off, rolling his chair behind Alfred to watch one of the monitors over his shoulder.

"Hard to say, but I think not, sir," Alfred said, shaking his head. "Something more along the lines of...awe...perhaps. If I was to hesitate a guess I think it'd be hero worship."

Bruce nodded, his features etched in frustration. They'd been going back in forth over how to act on the information they'd uncovered. Although brilliant, she obviously had a weakness that would be exploitable to someone of the Joker's...skills. Not only did she seem to gravitate toward strong, domineering men, but the Joker could also promise her the life of pure, complete freedom that she'd never gotten to experience. Judging by the body language she displayed on the monitors...the anticipatory leaning towards him across the table, the rapt way her eyes followed his every word and movement, along with other subtle clues...it was ever so slowly working.

Bruce shook his head as he watched over Alfred's shoulder. "She's got to understand how pointless it would be to try and break him out. She doesn't have the skills or resources for something like that."

"And when has that ever stopped someone with an obsession?" Alfred pointed out. "When has anything ever stopped you?"

"That's different. I have the training and the equipment for it. I've thought this through."

The older man turned in his chair to look at his young master appraisingly. "And what makes you think she hasn't? If made desperate enough or given a strong enough conviction she _could_ prove a dangerous enough woman."

Although Bruce might disagree with Alfred's opinion of the severity of the situation he could still readily agree that it was alarming. Doctor Quinzel was clearly becoming far too comfortable with the Joker. What was to be done about it was another matter entirely.

After another few moments of quiet thought Bruce finally broke the silence, sliding back towards his own bank of computers. "And you think confronting her as the Batman would be counterproductive?"

Alfred nodded slowly as he swung his eyes over to meet his employers. "Given her history I think she'll only react negatively to someone else trying to exert some measure of control on her life. It may only serve to push her closer rather than intimidate her."

"Strengthen her resolve," Bruce mused.

"Precisely, sir."

"I'll alert Gordon when I can, but he's not going to be able to do much with video that's inadmissible. The police won't be able to get involved in Arkham's internal affairs, but maybe he can get a warning to Doctor Strange." Bruce leaned back in his chair, staring past the butler's shoulder into the receding darkness of the cave as his mind whirred. "It's something, I guess."

"Is it too much to hope that Doctor Strange is keeping a close eye on Miss Quinzel?" Alfred asked.

"I doubt it. Judging by her reaction to him at the gala I don't think so. If anything, he's just another controlling force to her, driving her right back to the Joker."

None of their options were ideal. Hopefully Strange wasn't blind to what was happening right under his nose between his Chief Psychologist and most infamous inmate, but judging by his reaction to her little outburst at the party, he'd been thoroughly surprised. In Quinzel's eyes he may very well fall under the same category as her father.

Bruce rose unexpectedly from his seat, stretching his arms out lightly before moving past Alfred toward the catwalk that would lead him into the other areas of the cave.

"Sir?"

"I need to get out and clear my head, Alfred," Bruce said. Alfred glanced at the large, red digital clock suspended above the workstations. It was already nearing one thirty in the morning, far later than he usually left to go about his nightly business.

"You know, a good night's sleep is known to work wonders in that regard." It was worth a shot.

Bruce outright ignored the comment, continuing to stride to where the suit awaited him silently, his footsteps clanging jarringly on the metal grating. "I'm going to take a look around Granton and Knight Stadium. See if I can't find out _something _about Black Mask," he said. "I'll deal with informing Gordon and finding out more about our little thief another night."

Alfred began the effort of saving the video files he'd been reviewing and shutting down his monitors as his employer began donning the formfitting black garments that went underneath the Batman's armored shell. It was late and no doubt Wayne's faithful butler could use some rest even though Bruce knew he'd be awake and waiting for him when he returned. He always was.

"Hey Alfred," Bruce called, looking up as he slipped on a scalloped gauntlet. "If you want to, why don't you take the Wraith out tonight. You know...get used to it?"

He saw his old friend turn and look down over the railing at the newest addition to the cave where the black, insect-like drone sat quietly amongst the other vehicles. He looked less than ecstatic at the idea judging by the scowl on his face, probably not thrilled with the prospect of losing additional sleep. Bruce knew he wouldn't say no though.

"Of course, sir." Alfred sighed and turned from where he'd been standing to eye the small control terminal they'd crammed besides the stacks of servers. Nobody had had time to integrate the Batman's newest piece of technology into the cave's systems yet. "Yet another secret skill to add to my ever expanding dossier it would seem," the butler muttered.

* * *

><p>413 Wesley Avenue happened to be only a six block walk from Wayne Tower, a distance easily covered during a weekday lunch break. The transponder Bruce had planted on the jewel thief's loot had stopped somewhere within this building before ceasing to broadcast its location altogether sometime the following evening.<p>

Bruce sighed in annoyance as he looked up at the gothic revival features of the building so common to structures built during that time period. .

Unfortunately, 413 Wesley Avenue was also the address of the Gotham Grand Marquis, a twenty-six story, four hundred and eighty room four star hotel. His alter ego had the equipment to triangulate the signal down to the correct room.

_If _the signal was still broadcasting.

It didn't leave him many options. He couldn't hack into the hotel's systems because he didn't have a clue what name or alias to look for. Nor did he have the time to manually review all the security camera recordings. There were simply more important things for him to occupy himself with.

Sticking his hands deep into the pockets of his overcoat he glanced one more time up the building's looming facade before he turned and began making his way back through the throngs of people towards his office. This was a problem for later.

Gotham by day was always strangely alive to him, all motion and energy. It was always a weird sensation for him, walking the city streets. Bruce was so used to seeing the city from a different vantage point and during a much later hour that he often forgot what a thriving metropolis it was. He focused so prevalently night after night on the scum that he often forgot to enjoy the sights and sounds that helped lead him to his quest. Beyond the tragic deaths of his parents. Beyond the crippling hurt and anger. There was a commitment...an attachment he felt towards this place, his home. It was something he liked to believe was instilled in the Wayne family, passed down through generations.

Granted, none of his forebears had ever gone to the lengths he currently was. For them, putting their sweat and blood into Gotham hadn't been quite so...literal.

Still, this was his...his home, his responsibility. Not for ownership or power or to rule, but to protect, to raise above and better as best he could.

Bruce prided himself on his awareness, his constant attention to detail. It was a quality that allowed him to excel at what he did best. Still, wrapped up in his thoughts even he could sometimes slip and be unaware of his surroundings.

The first hint he had was nothing more than a sniff, the merest hint of something subtle and familiar. The second was the woman that brushed closely by him through the crowd of people, headed west. Bruce stopped and watched after she'd passed by, causing several other pedestrians to glare as they shifted to flow around him. The woman had obviously been deep in thought, not even bothering to look up as she'd nearly bumped into him.

She was dressed casually albeit quite fashionably, bundled up in a thick, flowing cream colored sweater to ward off the cold that still managed to cling admirably to her slender frame despite its bulk. Something besides the scent seemed familiar about her though...the walk or maybe the posture. The hood she had pulled up to protect against the weather and the large sunglasses perched atop her nose effectively obscured most of her face, but there was something...

Bruce changed directions, knifing his way back through the crowd to follow her the way he'd just come, picking up his pace to catch up.

"Selina?"

The woman cocked her head for a moment from where she'd stopped at the crosswalk waiting for the light to change. Her eyes where hidden behind the mirrored lenses of her sunglasses, but she didn't turn towards him when he spoke, didn't look towards his voice. Bruce jogged the last couple of yards to her before the light could change.

"Selina?"

She spun around suddenly, awakened from her thoughts by the voice only a foot or two behind her, her eyebrows arching high on her forehead above the reflective lenses in surprise.

"Bruce?" she practically yelled, flinching when she heard the volume of her voice. Selina hastily pulled back her hood and removed the small earphones from either side of her head, the loud music faintly audible before she tucked them away, all the while looking properly chagrined.

"Hi...uh...sorry about that." She looked back up at him after stowing the wires, her facing very obviously reddening in embarrassment. "Bruce, hi! Umm..." She paused a little uncertainly before continuing sheepishly. "Weren't following me too long, were you?"

Bruce laughed. In neither of their brief meetings had she come across as nervous or projected anything but complete self confidence. It was refreshing to see her a tiny bit unsure of herself. "No, no. I almost didn't recognize you though. We walked right past each other."

"Heh, sorry about that. I was a little...tuned out I guess," she said, gesturing to where she'd stashed her tiny speakers. "And what brings you down amongst us mere mortals?"

"Needed to decompress," Bruce said. "It's easy to lose sight of things when your head's up in the clouds."

Her stance altered subtly, that familiar coy smile playing across her lips. "And you just happened to run into me. In all the cities, on all the streets, in all the millions of people..."

Bruce grinned and held up his hands in an exaggerated show of defense. "I promise, I'm not stalking you."

"Mmhmm." Selina laughed as she smoothed the hair along the opposite side of her face. "Well, a girl can hope, can't she?"

If he'd been drinking something he'd have probably choked. Sure, they'd been flirting a bit, but things also hadn't exactly been overt in their previous encounters. Bruce really hoped the reddening in his face wasn't as obvious as it felt. Bruce Wayne wasn't supposed to blush at a simple statement.

Mistaking his look for confusion Selina continued. "Oh, let's face it Mister Wayne. There are worse things in life than having a handsome billionaire as an admirer."

"So, now I'm apparently an admirer?" he joked. "What happened to stalker?"

"Well, if the attention was unwelcome obviously you'd still be in that category." The sentence was punctuated by a decidedly sexy little wink. "You, however, are not."

"Good to know." He managed to say, hopefully a little more nonchalantly than he felt at the moment.

"Mmmm...Isn't it though?" Selina replied, cocking her head to the side to look at him playfully out of the corner of her eye.

Thankfully for Bruce's racing mind, the light changed color, indicating that it was their side's turn to cross Fourteenth Street. The large crowd that had amassed on the corner quickly began pushing forward towards the asphalt. Bruce just stayed by Selina's side, casually walking next to her. It was a fact that didn't go unnoticed.

"Going my way?" Her all-knowing smirk was firmly in place as she nodded her head back in the opposite direction. The direction of Wayne Tower. "Sure work's not going to miss you?"

"Somehow I don't think the boss will mind."

"Must be nice."

"It has its perks," he agreed, nodding. They carried on down the pavement for a few more moments in comfortable silence, blending in amongst the crowds of people busily circulating in either direction down the thoroughfare. "This isn't fair, you know?"

She raised her head questioningly to look at him. "How's that?"

"Here I know next to nothing about you while you probably have my entire life history."

Pretty much anyone with access to the internet could find out all they wanted to know about Bruce Wayne in a matter of seconds, assuming they didn't know most of the story already. His Wikipedia page was quite thorough, even including some of his childhood pictures. Of course, there was a large, noticeable gap in his early twenties when he'd mysteriously disappeared.

The Bruce Wayne vanishing act was still a popular topic of discussion throughout the city. Theories and conspiracies still popped up on the local talk radios and blogs fairly regularly, never ceasing to entertain to the gossip hungry masses of Gotham. Over time, they'd gotten progressively more outlandish, gradually spinning into crazier and crazier flights of fancy.

Of course, none of them could be further from the truth. A truth most would fine as crazy as some of the suggestions.

Selina laughed lightly. "There _are _a frightening number of websites devoted to all things Bruce Wayne," she agreed, her eyes alight with her usual amusement. "You have quite the legion of outspoken female fans...as well as a good number of...detractors. I guess anonymity has its advantages."

Bruce had been practically beaten back by Alfred when he'd mentioned running a background check and some searches on Selina Kyle back in the cave. Apparently the man still had a slightly more traditional view of romance than Bruce possessed. Something about actually getting to know someone in order to learn their history as opposed to searching every law enforcement and public records database in the civilized world. In the end, Bruce had bowed to Alfred's superior wisdom, though he'd kicked himself for allowing himself to even think of her romantically. He was still fully of the opinion that that was a very bad idea.

Of course, Alfred had also dutifully reminded him that he had other, more pressing concerns than cyber stalking an attractive raven haired woman.

"Well, well, well...so apparently I've been Googled," he smirked, cocking an eyebrow. "Not sure how to feel about that."

Selina grinned and placed a hand on his forearm. "I'm a curious breed," she said, patting his arm a few times. You'll get over it." They continued walking for a while again, content to let the crowds push by as they scurried to their appointments or to complete their errands. "So, seven years?"

Bruce glanced over to find her looking up at him curiously out of the corner of her eye before he averted his eyes back to the sea of people in front of him. He shrugged. "I had things to do, something to find. Time...well...it got away from me." He looked back at Selina. "And weren't we supposed to be talking about you?"

"Were we?" Selina feigned confusion, her eyes widening in exaggerated surprise, but her little smile gave her away. She finally relented under Bruce's pointed look. "Okay, fine. What would you like to know?"

"Whatever you're willing to share," he said. "I'm not looking to pry."

"Of course you're not." She managed a small hollow smile up at him before looking forward again. She seemed to shrink before his eyes when she began speaking again. Obviously he wasn't the only one that had difficulty bringing up the past. She took a deep breath, wrapping herself tighter into her sweater as they walked. "Well...okay. For starters, I'm an orphan. No memories of good ole mom or dad, just a little orphanage in Philadelphia."

"Hard childhood?"

She seemed to think about that for a second before hesitantly answering.

"Can't complain, I suppose. I don't think either of us had what one could call a normal childhood though." Bruce nodded, readily agreeing with her on that point. His innocence had been stolen from him earlier than anyone deserved to be robbed of such a thing. Apparently hers might have been too. "Like a lot of kids in the system I moved around a lot...had a lot of anger to deal with as a result. Among other things. I acted out, ran away..." Selina chuckled mirthlessly. "I guess I was a pretty stereotypical angry teenager by the time I got into my teens."

She looked back up at him with a very different...something...in her eyes. Something Bruce hadn't seen before behind all the sarcasm and confidence. It looked like sadness.

"Looking back now I know I should just be happy that I at least had foster parents that were concerned for my well-being. You hear plenty of horror stories about the system. I guess mine wasn't _that _bad. Must have put mine through hell at times though."

"So, you were a bit of a troublemaker?" Bruce asked.

For the first time since she'd begun sharing her story her face contained a hint of life in it again. Pride, maybe? "Yeah, stealing mostly. Got pretty good at it too after some early...unsuccessful attempts. Learned my lessons though. Finally ran away for good when I was fifteen...headed to Boston to make my fortune."

"And did you?"

Her look pretty much told him how stupid she found his question. "As a fifteen year old? No, not quite. Not everyone gets handed a trust fund, Bruce." Her smile and wink let him know that she merely playing with him again.

"So, is Boston where you left to come to Gotham?"

"No." Selina shook her head. "Chicago. There's quite a few stops between Boston and Gotham. I guess just because I ran away didn't mean I stopped moving around."

"So, you never settled down? Were you running from something?" Bruce hesitated before continuing his train of thought, keeping in mind that it wouldn't do his public image any favors to be seen in close proximity to a wanted felon. "The authorities?" Of the range of emotions she could display he hadn't expected Selina to laugh, her eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Nothing quite so sensational I'm afraid. I moved around for all sorts of reason. Reasons that I'll...keep to myself...for the time being."

"Fair enough." Outwardly Bruce shrugged indifferently, but internally his curiosity had definitely been piqued. He didn't expect her to divulge all of her life to him this early, but like Selina, he was a curious breed.

"And I'm afraid this is where the inquisition comes to an end." Selina stopped and smiled at him. "This is me," she said, nodding towards an ornate set of doors and a doorman in a stylish throwback uniform. A very familiar doorman.

Bruce stopped and looked up at the familiar gray stone edifice and the fancy script of the neon sign marking the hotel's entrance. "Of course it is," he chuckled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Bruce glanced over to where Selina was staring at him curiously before looking back up at the Gotham Grand Marquis. "Just some past experience with this place."

"Oookay," she replied, obviously curious at his reaction, but not pushing it any further. "So," she smiled, "I suppose this is where..."

"Have dinner with me," Bruce blurted out without thinking. Inwardly he cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. After insisting incessantly that a personal life was a needless complication here he was asking out a near stranger. Alfred was going to have a field day.

Still, despite everything else, he found that he hoped she'd say yes.

"What?"

"Will you have din..."

"No...sorry...I heard you the first time." Selina's mask settled back into place again quickly, replacing her startled look with one of casual interest. "What's the matter? You can't possibly be _that _hard up for a date?"

Bruce smirked. "Figured I'd go out on a limb just this once."

"And I thought we'd also already discussed my aversion to three ring circuses." Before he could interject she continued, her tone conveying the seriousness of her words. "Listen, Bruce, I'm not going to pretend I don't find you attractive and entertaining. You're not at all what I expected..."

"But..."

"But." Selina paused, gathering her thoughts for a moment. "But I just can't get into something...like this...right now. Something so...I don't know...public."

"Fine," Bruce said, "nothing public then. No flashing cameras or tabloids. Just you and me and dinner at the penthouse. Nice and casual."

"You know," she replied, her playful smile back in place, "I don't usually go home on a first date."

"Good thing my butler will be there to keep me in line then." Bruce smiled back. At this point the fact that she hadn't said _no _was certainly a good sign.

"I'll bet you say that to all the ladies."

"So, is that a yes?"

"You don't hear the word no very often, do you?" She watched him for a moment out of the corner of her eye slowly beginning to nod, a toothy smile gradually growing on her face. "Fine. Dinner."

* * *

><p>AN: _Some more Bruce/Selina development and a first date in the future. Is love in the air? Let's just say that this promises to be a truly unconventional relationship. _

_How'd everyone like my little background into Harley? I went for something different than the usual infatuation and romance angle. I wanted something that explained what could be some truly horrific behavior in a different way. The cartoonish, happy-go-lucky Harley from canon doesn't really fit the Nolan-verse to me. Curious to hear others' opinions though. _

_Next chapter is mostly finished, but I want to get a little farther into the chapters after that before I come back and put on the finishing touches. Build myself a cushion so I can come back and look at it with fresh eyes. Hopefully shouldn't take me too long to update._


	11. Chapter 11

_If you enjoyed this or any of the previous chapters, please take a second and send the author a review. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets them know you care. Seriously...it's like sending a jolt of motivation. We live on this stuff.  
><em>

_First and foremost, I want to take the time to thank all of those who took the time to leave a review. I appreciate and learn from each and every one. You guys rule._

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The sun had ebbed over to the west, far inland, it's dwindling light still faintly illuminating the sky and bathing the crowded jumble of buildings in a dirty, orange hue. To Gordon, it was fitting. The burnt color would probably feel out of place reflected off the thousands of windows of the skyscrapers of the more affluent areas of the city. Hell, there it might even turn into something dazzling.<p>

The assembled group was setting up on the bottom floor of a dank, under lit parking garage half a mile from their target building. Like many other things in the surrounding neighborhoods the building was in serious decline. Cracked concrete seemed to be the norm, sprouting tufts of weeds here and there where nature tried to reassert her hold in the crumbling environs. The familiar drip of water could be heard somewhere in the shadows, reverberating off the bare, cold walls.

West Harlow had been hit particularly hard in the last economic downturn. Though not the untamed wilderness of the Narrows it was still a district where crime was well known. The neighborhoods it contained were called home by a large portion of the city's unskilled labor force and had historically been a haven for the immigrants that still seemed to descend on Gotham in search of a better life. When the textile factories and petrochemical plants began layoffs several years back the communities suffered heavily. The inevitable impact on the dockworkers only made things worse. Years later, it was still a place struggling to right itself, the air of desperation and determination almost palpable.

"How long we gonna wait, Commish?"

Gordon allowed a grim grin to take hold at the eagerness behind his Lieutenant's words. He didn't acknowledge the question though, both men knew the plan. "Are we ready?" Jim asked, turning towards Bullock before looking over his shoulder at the array of officers busily checking their weapons and equipment while shrugging on the familiar kevlar vests emblazoned with the word _police._

"Damn right we're ready. Dumbasses won't know what hit em."

The call had come in less than an hour ago from one of Bullock's Confidential Informants. Ian Riley, Sean's son, was going to be present to personally negotiate a large, complicated heroin deal in West Harlow, deep in Irish territory. It was an operation that came with plenty of risk for the police, but the potential prize was simply too great to ignore. The opportunity to put away Riley's eldest son and get that much drugs and money off the street before it could make its impact felt would make a very big dent in the Irish's plans.

The news had sent Major Crimes into a scramble, the logistics of bringing together the special tactics teams and detectives in such a short window of time was problematic at best. Surprisingly, they'd managed to pull off that feat though and were now simply waiting, readying for a call confirming that the players were all in position. When the word was given they could make their move, speeding towards the target with sirens silent as they hopefully took all the players involved by surprise.

"Good." The Commissioner began walking back to where the men were grouped. They'd all been thoroughly briefed. Blueprints of the building, pictures of some of the expected participants, including Riley, and other bits of available information had all been consumed with professional thoroughness by the teams involved. Everyone involved knew the plan, knew their place. Now they just had to be patient.  
>Technically, this was Bullock's operation, his command. He should be the one giving the orders and rallying the troops. The Commissioner, however, chafed under the responsibilities off his office at times. Everyone knew it. Too far removed from doing the work he'd rather be involved in and too far from the streets and seeing and experiencing things firsthand. As a result, he allowed himself an indulgence from time to time. Taking charge of an assault or heading an investigation for a time before relinquishing command to the proper authority. It helped him stay plugged in, helped remind him why he did the things he did despite the long hours and time away from his all too understanding family.<p>

Harvey Bullock understood. He'd never complained those times when Gordon had shown up to stick his nose in things. Ever the loyal soldier.

Besides, the Lieutenant would have tactical command once the call came down. He'd be the one going in the front door alongside the black clad troops and actually executing things. For Harvey, that was more than enough.

Gordon was startled by a familiar buzzing in his pocket as he reached to retrieve his phone and glance at the screen. Apparently they wouldn't have to be that patient after all. He turned back to where most of his assembled troops were now watching him.

The Commissioner nodded at them. "Alright, as planned...Bullock, take Montoya and Alpha Team in the front," he barked, turning to the other three detectives as Harvey and Renee trotted off. "Petit, you're with Fletcher and Engel. Take Bravo Team down the alley to the east and make entry from the rear."

"Got it." Petit grinned broadly, probably at the possibility of impending violence.

"And Bill...remember, we want him alive."

A simple nod by the mustached man and he was jogging off to the second SWAT van to link up with his team, Fletcher and Engel loping along behind him.

Despite everything else he might be, Bill Petit was a good cop. An honest one too. They were traits that were sorely lacking in much of Gotham City, even today, even after the Batman had finally managed to place a bit of fear in the hearts of the corrupt. He might be a little overly aggressive at times and tended to butt heads with those around him, but that was sometimes necessary in a city as hard and dangerous as Gotham. As long as he toed the line, Gordon could make use of a trustworthy cop, even if Internal Affairs did have their eye on him. For once it wasn't in relation to corruption and that was something he could live with. The Commissioner simply hoped the man's temper wasn't going to get him in trouble someday.

* * *

><p>"Can I assume you're on your way then, sir?"<p>

If it weren't for the sound canceling aspects of his cowl Alfred's words would surely have been carried away in the howling wind as Bruce dove to gain momentum before opening his cape to its fullest and leveling out, heading roughly southeast.

"I am," he replied, not sure if his voice would even carry to the microphone pickup built into his headpiece over the wind.

"Things do sound rather...tense. Do remember to be careful. The police aren't liable to be overly welcoming despite what assistance you might provide."

Without Gordon to provide intelligence and give him advance warning Bruce was often left scrambling to keep up when the GCPD was making a move. Kept secret and off the police band he was generally the last to know about their coordinated strikes against organized crime. It sometimes meant he was arriving hours after the fact.

Perhaps it meant he needed to bug the MCU offices and their phones there. Something for him to think about later.

Bruce hadn't waited to hear the specifics, moving as soon as the location had been mentioned following the emergency broadcast. Perched high atop one of Gotham's tallest towers he'd been idly scanning police and emergency frequencies, hoping for something that would help him in his investigations. Or perhaps he was simply hoping for something to provide a distraction from them.

The address would be enough...somewhere in West Harlow. Irish territory. Judging by the call for reinforcements it was a big one too. One that had exploded in violence for one reason or another.

Unfortunately, it would take time for him to get there though. A delay that meant both the police and criminals had plenty of time to blaze away at each other before he could intervene. It might be done by the time he got there or it might not, such was the reality of the situation he found himself increasingly in.

It was a reality that never sat well with him. Bruce hated being reactionary.

* * *

><p>Fifteen short minutes after the text had arrived on Gordon's phone, the deafening blasts of automatic weapons and muffled splat of bullets striking aged brick meant that things were definitely not going as planned.<p>

Far from it, considering the plan hadn't called for the need for anyone to actually discharge their weapons.

Renee ducked lower as a handful of plaster particles rained down on her, silently cursing as she expelled her spent magazine, smoothly swapping it for a loaded one and racking the slide back. The detective risked a glance over the high backed booth she was currently crouched behind, swearing again as another burst of fire embedded itself in the opposite side.

The initial assault had gone well, the SWAT members were breaking open the front doors and tossing in flash grenades before the vans and sedans had even come screeching to a full stop. The grenades, designed to stun and incapacitate an opponent, were intended to disorient the mobsters long enough for the assault forces to swoop in and get them secured. It was all very text book and very professional.

Unfortunately for them, there hadn't been anybody in the first several rooms _to_ secure. They'd been deserted to the point of being unsettling. Just the probing flashlights of the entry team casting shadows over the multitudes of tables and booths with their chairs stacked atop them for the evening.

Looking back now the answer was obvious to Montoya, probably to every cop currently battling for their life. The Irish had been warned. Not nearly early enough to have changed the location of their deal or to have escaped, but in enough time to feel as though they'd been backed into a corner.

Not a good situation to place any animal in. Especially if that animal has teeth.

The heavily armed and well equipped men in black had quickly cleared the main dining room as well as a couple private rooms off to the side before stacking back up at the door leading deeper into the shuttered restaurant and its giant industrial kitchen. At the signal they'd performed the same technique as before, grenades first followed closely by the assaulters.

Only this time their entry was met by a hail of gunfire.

The two lead officers both took multiple hits, going down almost instantly as bullets impacted their upper bodies and arms. The Irish's opening fusillade forced the team to fall back, dragging their two wounded comrades back through the door with them, leaving the pristine white tiled floor streaked with red trails in their wake. Others returned fire through the swinging doors, forcing down the heads of their adversaries who blindly fired from whatever cover they could find on far side of the room.

In the background she could already hear Harvey yelling into his handheld for the paramedics somebody had the foresight to bring along for the ride. Off to her right the SWAT team leader was shouting to get his men organized again, answering the criminals with their own carefully directed fire as more flash grenades were heaved through the doors.

And just where the hell was Petit's team?

Chancing a quick look over the top of the counter she'd managed to scurry up to she watched the bright explosions of light burn momentarily from within the kitchen, the return fire dying as the men inside were once again temporarily blinded.

The men in black made entry again, this time staying lower and sliding immediately through the door and behind the stainless steel prep stations before them, the bullets already clanging off the cold metal.

Renee followed close behind, practically crawling on her belly over the red stained floor as she joined Bullock against a bank of industrial ovens.

"Shit, Harvey," she yelled over the thundering blasts. "What the hell is this!"

"Hell if I know!" He reached up, exposing only his gun and squeezed off three rounds blindly in the general direction of their attackers. "They musta' known we were coming," he shouted back at her.

In spite of the heavy fire being exchanged all around them she managed a tight grin, rolling her eyes at the older man. "Oh wow, ya think?"

Bullock glared at her, opening his mouth to retort when he though better of it. "Christ! What're they hoping ta do, take down the entire Gotham police force?" Harvey yelled. Another bullet pinged off the steel counter above his head, causing him to huddle even lower. "For god's sake, just keep your head down and..."

The ear splitting blast and blinding light of Petit's team entering caught both of them off guard, flattening them further into the wedge where the counter and floor met as they heard new voices calling for surrender before the gunfire started up again with a new level of urgency.

"Fuck! Petit! Of all the dumbass..."

Montoya shook her head as Bullock's torrent of profanity continued on her left, the bright light slowly becoming large floating spots as her eyes gradually recovered from the trauma they'd suffered from the flash grenades. She rubbed her closed eyes with the palms of her hands and blinked, trying to force her pupils to focus only to see a fuzzy streak of color pass the far side of her partner who was still shaking his head and blinking his eyes in response to the grenades.

"Shit! Bullock!" she screeched, pointing over his shoulder. The hazy shape ducked through a side entrance and disappeared. Harvey was still turning, frowning as he looked over to where she was indicating. He looked back at her and shrugged. "What?"

Her legs were carrying her before she even had the time to rationalize her actions, moving her as fast as they could manage for the far doorway. "Nevermind! I got him!"

"Montoya! Jesus, wait for backup!" Bullock called after her, moving to follow before a burst of fire stitching the ground in front of him sent him scrambling back behind cover. "Montoya!"

* * *

><p>"Dammit," Renee cursed under her breath, ducking some metal shelving as she rounded the next corner. Every time she raised her weapon to fire off a warning her quarry was already turning another corner, ducking out of view before she could align her sights.<p>

The man she was chasing was fast. His long strides could easily outpace her on open ground. Thankfully he was being forced to stay indoors for the moment where his speed wouldn't provide him quite as much of an advantage.

They were in a neighboring office building now, lost in the maze of stark, narrow hallways. Him, trying desperately to find an exit that led outside the police perimeter while she wanted nothing more than to catch him before he succeeded. She'd been afraid she'd lose him once he'd made it out of the restaurant, only to find him ducking into the closest building because of the flashing lights of the squad cars blocking either end of the street. If he made it out of this building that probably wouldn't be the case.

Montoya gulped in another lungful of air, her heart hammering in her chest.

This was definitely _not_ one of her better ideas. Chasing a possibly armed perpetrator by herself through a deserted building was _not _how she'd planned to spend her night. An armed perpetrator that was probably more than willing to do her bodily harm if it meant his freedom. One who might even welcome the chance.

She was losing ground too, pausing cautiously at each corner, her police training kicking in while her quarry just plowed on ahead, slowly widening the separation between them. There couldn't be much building left either and once he was outside, well, it certainly wouldn't make it _harder _for him to escape. Whatever perimeter the Commissioner had been able to get set was going to be porous at best this far from the target building and probably behind them completely by this point.

Gun held high and eyes tracking she rounded the corner and began moving again at a controlled jog, speeding up once she was relatively sure the hallway was clear. She hadn't heard any doors opening or closing and took the calculated risk to bypass the two interior doors on her right, continuing down the sparsely decorated hall as fast as she could.

The unmistakable sound of a heavy emergency exit door closing gently greeted her at the next intersection clearly coming from down the corridor on her right. Montoya swore and picked up the pace again, rounding the corner recklessly as she bolted for the exit, hoping desperately to gain on the man before he could lose her in the twisted side streets and alleyways of the surrounding neighborhood.

Renee barreled through the door, mindless of the danger, leveling her gun left, then right as she scanned the dark street. Breathing heavily she pivoted again, back the way she'd been originally looking and allowed herself a more careful scan of the environment.

Nothing.

She turned back the other way again, eyes straining in the relative darkness to make out anything. The sound of metal striking pavement rung out behind her, spinning Renee back around, her sidearm held rigidly before her.

There.

A shadow detached itself from those surrounding it, the movement catching her eye in the otherwise still alley. It moved, picking up speed, trying to get further away from where she stood observing. Renee took off after it, heart pounding in her ears while simultaneously straining to hear the barely audible slap of the soles of her quarry's shoes on the hard pavement.

"Stop dammit! Police!"

The shadow was already rounding a corner forty yards further down by the time the last exclamation was out of her mouth. Without realizing it, Montoya's feet were already carrying her after him, moving as fast as they could despite her screaming muscles.

Rounding the corner with a full head of steam she brought up her gun quickly, skidding clumsily to a stop at the sudden appearance of the lanky man she'd been after and barely avoiding going down in a heap altogether. He stood there, thirty feet away, bent at the waste with his hands on his knees as his chest rose and fell quickly, glaring up at her upon her inelegant arrival. Obviously the situation he found himself in and the dead end alley he'd chosen as an escape route was not doing his anger and frustration any favors.

"Let me see your hands!" she demanded, not backing down. "Around! Turn around!" Montoya straightened her shoulders, squaring them towards him as he straightened up, slowly turning away from her and raising his hands as instructed. Renee began cautiously edging forward as he silently waited, her gun held out before her in both hands.

After only a few steps he looked at her over his shoulder, an unexpectedly cruel smile forming on his lips.

"Hiya, sweetie."

Eye's widening in surprise she spun to her left, trying to bring her weapon to bear on whomever had suddenly spoken. She hadn't even made it halfway when something rammed into her, sending her reeling before something low to the ground caught her ankles, tripping her and sending her flailing unceremoniously to the ground. The gun clattered away noisily on the concrete, sliding and spinning far from her reach. Montoya grunted as she came down on her hip, a sharp pain flashing through her lower body as her arms shot out to steady herself.

She tried to scramble back from where she'd fallen, away from her attacker, her feet having trouble finding purchase on the smooth concrete.

The man, the one who'd been hidden, emerged from his hiding place, leering down at her wickedly as her original target came up behind him.

Had she actually been chasing two men this whole time? She'd never really been all that close to him. Was it even possible. She blinked again, besides their clothing the men had more than a passing resemblance to one another. Brothers maybe? Twins? In the haze following the flash grenades could she have missed a detail that big?

As her brain struggled to catch up the man that had been at the end of the alley bent over to look down at her, the sweat from his exertion spattering her shirt here and there. "Hey, she ain't half bad, man," he said, looking back at his relative. "You sure we gotta do this?"

"She's a cop, idiot. What do you think?"

"Yeah, yeah." He looked back down at her. It wasn't sadness she saw in his eyes, merely resignation. The reality that most in his line of work had to be willing to make. "Just make it quick, will ya?"

"Oh shit."

They were her first words, all she could manage as her still stumbling mind blankly processed her impending doom, still too stunned to plead or threaten or manage...much of anything. From the looks of things they were also going to be her last words.

"Oh...you're goddammed right, oh shit," the one on the left spit out, raising the shotgun he'd been holding casually only a moment before. "Goodnight, you stupi..."

The words were cut off as a large black shape came down on top of the two men. Hard.

Renee didn't even have time to fully comprehend her sudden and dramatic change of good fortune before the Batman was looming over her, staring down at her intently. Both of her attackers lay behind him in a broken, twisted mess.

"Are you hurt?"

Montoya didn't respond, simply staring at the masked man. She had still been a patrolman when the Batman was an unofficial ally of Gordon's MCU, back before he became the wanted fugitive he was today. That made this the first time she'd seen him in person, much less up close. The entire encounter and situation that led to it certainly weren't going to be something she'd be forgetting anytime soon.

He crouched down beside her, taking a knee as he looked her up and down, before meeting her blank stare again. This time his voice carried a little more strength, a slight hint of urgency.

"Detective, are you injured?"

It was all Renee could do to nod, her mouth slack and dangling open comically as she lay on the ground, propped up on her elbows and staring up at her hulking rescuer. She was supposed to be arresting him some irrational part of her mind screamed out, scrambling for her gun so that she could properly confront the murderer, the cop killer. Her body, however, wasn't responding...probably still in shock at the very recent reminder of her own mortality.

Based on what he'd just accomplished in the span of a couple seconds she also figured it would be very unlikely that she'd even be able to get to her sidearm, much less actually intimidate him into surrendering. Besides, he'd...just saved her life too. That meant...something.

He nodded abruptly back once, content that she was at least close to being physically okay and rose, turning to leave.

"Thank you." The haze in her head cleared just enough with him exiting for Montoya to blurt it out hastily. He paused and turned partially back towards her, meeting her timid gaze. "I..." She looked back over at the two motionless men and shivered, picturing the crooked smile that one had been sporting as he'd stood over her. "I...owe you."

"No, you don't." He nodded again, once, and was about to turn again when he paused and glanced back at her. If it wasn't for his generally unusual appearance she would have instantly recognized the hesitation in his face. His mind silently whirring away under the cowl as he measured...something. His jaw tightened again when his decision was made, reaching back under his cape. "Make sure Gordon gets this."

She caught the dark envelope he'd tossed and looked at it curiously, turning it over in her hands to inspect the unmarked paper. "What will..." she began, only to find the alley in front of her empty save for the two unconscious Irishmen. She looked back down to the thin object in her hands.

_Make sure Gordon gets this._

* * *

><p>Chaos. The rear entry team had walked into absolute chaos. Unlike the main entry, the Irish hadn't had time to set up a proper defense in the area they'd entered and they'd promptly swarmed into the building, clearing the rooms expertly before finally coming upon Riley's men from behind by pure coincidence. If anything though, it was their team's timely arrival on the Irish's flank that brought things firmly back under the GCPD's control.<p>

Just not their complete control.

In the haze of battle several gang members tried to make a dash for it. Some were simply and efficiently tackled by one of the black clad SWAT members as they tried to race past. Others were sneakier. Petit had briefly noticed Montoya charge recklessly after what looked like identical twins through a side door following his team's flash grenades while another had tried to squeeze out a barred window, only to get stuck.

Within minutes of Bravo Team's entrance though the fight had seemed to go out of their opponent. Penned in and being met with coordinated automatic rifle fire they seemed to come to the obvious conclusion that they weren't going to be fighting their way out, choosing instead to continue breathing, dropping their guns and submitting to the officers.

Of course there was always some idiot who had a different idea and thought he could be devious.

Fatally surprising one of Petit's men with a concealed weapon two men made a break for the back hallway and the rear entrance from which Bravo Team had originally breached the restaurant before anyone could respond. Engel was closest, reacting quickly, and tearing off after them with Petit at his heels as Fletcher knelt with another assaulter and tried vainly to care for the wounded man.

Upon reaching open air the two criminals had split up, heading in opposite directions from one another, possibly hoping to even the playing field. One was heading for the squad cars parked out of sight around the corner. He'd be in hand soon enough, but Engel broke off after him anyways causing Petit to growl in annoyance as he continued on alone after who he was growing more and more certain was none other then Ian Riley.

The picture they'd studied before the raid must have been really recent.

Riley was fast, setting off down a tight corridor with his long strides and up and over a locked chainlink gate that stood in the way. Petit just continued on straight, past the route of his quarry, guessing that he'd make for one of the larger parkways in the area.

Unlike most cops, Petit knew these neighborhoods, understood their maze of arteries. Never one to fear for his safety, he made a point of learning the ins and outs of the more dangerous areas of Gotham. What was the point in being afraid if you were the lion to everyone else's gazelles?

Warner Avenue was by far the closest. If he wanted to get lost in crowds or find a cab that's where he'd be heading.

Continuing on another hundred yards he turned left into a small, cracked parking lot behind a dilapidated, old strip mall. The few dented and rusted old cars he could see didn't present much cover for someone to be hiding and there wasn't any movement...yet. If he was right, Riley would come out on the other side of the next group of buildings, trying to break through somewhere to get to the thoroughfare on the other side.

Petit loped along, his large bore revolver sweeping out in front of him as he scanned each parked vehicle and darkened corner. He could still faintly hear the sirens back to the east and the beating of the helicopter's blades overhead, still punctuated occasionally with a crackle of gunfire as the last Irish stragglers were rounded up.

The ambient noise wasn't enough to cover the wheezing sound of a chronic, out of shape smoker though. A wheezing sound that was quickly coming in Petit's direction.

The detective picked up the pace enough to reach the next corner without giving away his presence. Surprise would be a valuable commodity when it came time to confront Ian since the Commissioner had expressly relayed the order to take him alive. If he decided to make a move, well...Petit really wouldn't mind the chance to put the man in the ground either.

Just before the corner and several steps before Petit was planning on springing his little surprise Riley audibly stopped. Near the opposite wall from the hidden detective he put his hands on his knees, coughing and hacking as he sucked in strained lungfuls of air. After a moment he leaned his weight against the cool brick, still trying vainly to regain his breath and staring back the way he'd come for any sign of pursuit.

Petit pushed off, figuring he wouldn't get a better moment to act than with his quarry's back to him. He brought up his weapon again, sighting in on the center of the pale blue sweater the man was wearing.

"Riley! Police!" At the sight of the gleaming silver semi automatic dangling from Ian's fingers Petit's right index found the reassuring texture of his weapon's trigger. "Drop it! Drop it right now or I swear to god..."

The Irishman froze the minute the first word had been uttered, stiffening noticeably at the sound. Slowly, he turned to face Petit, anger and frustration flashing across his pale face as his eyes first took in the man, then the gun pointed at him. The detective tightened his grip and adjusted his aim in response, readying himself. Who knew how unhinged the kid was? He might just be hopped up enough on his own product that he felt damn near invincible. Would he really throw down with a cop who already had him lined up in his sights?

"There's nowhere you can go and you're not nearly fast enough. Put it on the fucking ground...Now!"

Riley didn't move though, just absently tapping his gun against his thigh as he continued to stare down the officer, sometimes flicking his eyes towards his potential escape route.

"Don't! Don't do it! Drop the gun so I don't have an excuse."

"Fuck!" Riley threw up his hands in disgust, careful not to threaten Petit though with the abrupt motion. After another lengthy second the gun fell from his limp fingers to the ground, clattering loudly in the empty alley. "Fine, whatever. Just get it the fuck over with so I can hurry up and make bail," he spat, holding his hands out in front of him.

"Alright, down on your knees asshole, hands behind your he..."

The loud, sudden crack of a gunshot reverberated against the discolored brick, startling both men as the single round zipped an inch past Petit's skull and embedded itself into the wall behind him. He flinched, like any man would in a similar situation, the steel jacket of a bullet passing at that minuscule distance more than enough to make his muscles flex involuntarily.

Unfortunately, he was a man holding a .357 revolver. A giant handgun that was currently trained on the head of one Ian Riley.

It kicked violently in his hand as the report and coinciding violent explosion added to the still echoing sound within the narrow parking lot.

"Aw, Fuck," Petit whispered, his eyes wide as the weapon dropped to his side, a small curl of smoke lazily escaping the barrel.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Don't worry, no Montoya/Batman slash going on here. She sure seems to get herself into trouble regularly though, but that's just because she's awesome._

_And who could have fired that shot past Petit? Hmmm...  
><em>

_Let's see some reviews folks and just maybe I'll post the next chapter faster this time! I think we might just get to see some Anna Ramirez and Sean Riley's reaction to this chapter.  
><em>


	12. Chapter 12

_If you enjoyed this or any of the previous chapters, please take a second and send the author a review. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets them know you care. Seriously...it's like sending a jolt of motivation. We live on this stuff.  
><em>

_First and foremost, I want to take the time to thank all of those who took the time to leave a review. There was a great many of you and I appreciate and learn from each and every one. You guys rule. Keep it up.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>Hollow, unblinking eyes stared up out of the pale, slackened face as the body lay, partially on its side facing away towards the mouth of the alley. Commissioner Gordon tilted his head to the side to get a better look down at it from his half crouch, before he stood back up to look again at the carnage Petit's revolver had left on the wall where most of the back of Ian Riley's cranium still clung gruesomely.<p>

Bullock simply shook his head when the Commissioner glanced up to where he was standing off to one side, nodding his head back and groaning as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Dammit," Gordon muttered to himself before addressing the head of MCU. "Status?"

Bullock frowned and clenched and unclenched his fists in obvious anger and frustration. Not at his boss or his compatriots, but at the disastrous remnants of the situation still unfolding around them. It was part of what made him a good cop. He honestly cared about the lives of his fellow officers. Probably even cared about those he was trying to arrest, though he'd never admit to it.

"Benton and Scheffler are gone, Dietrich's in critical on his way to County. No word on his odds yet. Two others wounded and headed for the hospital too. Nothin' life threatening though."

"And the Irish?"

"Not sure how many managed to get away," he spat. "Probably two or three. We got cars and officers out patrolling, but I'm not gonna hold my breath. Montoya's on her way back with two. One of the squad cars manning the perimeter managed to intercept one too." The ever disheveled detective glanced quickly at his small, weathered notebook before continuing on. "Six dead, including ole Riley here, and four wounded." He rubbed his eyes, pushing back the brim of his hat as he often did out of habit and sighed again tiredly. "They're bein' escorted to County too. With the ones we grabbed tryin' to escape we managed to take eight captive in all."

"All right." Gordon nodded, looking back around at the crime scene technicians scampering this way and that to get things set up quickly. "All in all, not...terrible." He ignored Bullock's scoff, instead sighing and squaring his shoulders before turning back to the gruff Lieutenant. Yet again he was preparing himself to take control of another disaster zone. It sometimes seemed like it was all he did.

"Bullock, listen, I need you to see to the cleanup. Okay? Everything by the numbers. We're gonna have to answer some questions after this and I don't want any screw-ups. Crime Scene's already inside the restaurant at work, have Engel coordinate with them and make sure Montoya directs some of their techs back to where she took down her two." He pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache was coming again and it was looking like it would be yet another long night for everyone. "Alright, somebody alerted them, Bullock. I want to know who." When he realized the other man's attention was focused on the body bag a technician had just laid out the Commissioner placed a hand on Bullock's shoulder patting it once before letting it fall to his side. "Not your fault Harvey."

Bullock's head jerked up to stare into Gordon's before softening ever so slightly. "Well, it sure as hell is somebody's," he muttered.

Gordon met his stony gaze, breaking the stare to look back to his right where a shadowy, solitary figure was leaning against a wall, staring off into space. "I guess I'd better talk to him," he said, before looking back to Bullock. "You got this, Harvey?"

A terse nod and a low grumble was all he needed before he stuffed his hands deep into his coat's pockets and walked over to see another of his detectives.

"Jesus, Petit. We wanted him alive." He wasn't going to yell at his subordinate, he tried to do that as little as possible in dealing with men that were already under a lot of stress. His voice wasn't even raised. Still, his tone clearly expressed the disappointment he was experiencing. Probably the fatigue too.

"Dammit, Jim," Bill sighed. "I just...I don't know what the hell happened. God knows it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, but I didn't do it on purpose. Honest. I mean, one minute I've got the drop on the asshole and he's giving up his weapon and the next thing I know a bullet goes screaming by my ear and half his head's missing." Petit rubbed the palms of his hands over his face tiredly before looking back up. "I swear to god...it just...it happened so damn fast." Gordon glanced up to the area of wall his officer had indicated, noting again the small, distinctive hole carved out by the narrow miss.

Something definitely wasn't adding up right here.

"Fletcher take your statement already?"

"Yeah," the other man grumbled and nodded.

The Commissioner waited a moment as Petit continued to stare off blankly at nothing. When he realized that his superior was standing next to him silently he looked up and finally made eye contact. "And you? You okay?"

"I...I'll be fine, sir," he said, looking back down at the ground. "Nothing a stiff drink can't take care of, right?"

"Okay then. I want you to get out of here." Gordon raised his hand and cut off the expected protest before it could leave the man's lips. "It's simple, Petit. You don't need to be here. Go home and get some rest. Have that drink or whatever." He looked up to see several banks of lights being wheeled into place as well as the coroner's van backing down the alley. "Listen, just get a good night's sleep and be in early tomorrow. God knows you're gonna have plenty of questions to answer before this is all said and done."

"Yeah, I guess." Petit's tone was clearly hesitant. Ever the professional, he probably didn't feel right heading out and leaving the cleanup to his colleagues. He straightened up though and nodded at Gordon before heading slowly off down the alley and back around towards the restaurant where the cars were still parked.

"And Detective?" Gordon called out after him.

He stopped and half turned back to look at the Commissioner. "Sir?"

"Don't worry about it. Nothing here you did wrong."

A subtle, half-hearted nod was all he received in reply before Bill Petit disappeared into the confusing mass of technicians and investigators.

"Commissioner?"

Jim turned back towards Ian Riley's now covered corpse to see Bullock approaching, tossing him a high tech silver cellphone as he got closer.

"Seems Riley-boy over there got a call less than a minute before we made entry. Not enough time to get outta Dodge, but enough time to prepare us a warm welcome. There's a problem though."

Gordon was already navigating the touchscreen menu system to bring up the call log. "Unknown caller?" he asked, frowning and looking back up at his Lieutenant. "From a blocked number."

"Yeah, that would be the problem."

"Anyway to trace the number?"

Bullock scratched the back of his head and shrugged. "I'm probably the last man you should be asking that. I'll find out though. See what the techs can tell us. Between you and me I wouldn't keep your hopes up," he said bitterly as he took back the offered device. "You thinking a leak? Someone inside the MCU again?"

"Well, it happened before. Wouldn't exactly shock me."

"Terrific," Bullock muttered. "Oh, hey...Montoya's back. Said she needed to talk to you. She's..." His voice trailed off as he scanned the crowd around them. "...somewhere around here."

"I'll find her, you just get back to work. Nobody screws this investigation up, Harvey. You got it?" At the man's emphatic nod, Gordon turned to work his way into the crowd. "I'll be sure to get her over to you once we're done."

The Commissioner found Renee Montoya alongside an ambulance talking to a medic where he waited patiently for her to finish whatever discussion she was having. Once complete the paramedic loped off for parts unknown, leaving him alone with his youngest detective. Or as alone as one could be in the aftermath of the storm.

The aftermath was proving to be a storm all its own.

"Montoya," Gordon started, nodding when she quickly came to face him. "Bullock said you wanted to see me. Nice job bringing those two in on your own." He gestured towards the leaving ambulance. "Not that I'd condone going running off alone again in the future."

"Yes, sir. Uh...that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about." She was obviously nervous and hesitant, fidgeting heavily and boring a hole in the ground with her eyes. "Ya see...I...well, I didn't actually...uh..."

Gordon sighed, rubbing his temple. "Montoya, I'm sorry to rush you here, but the media's already waiting out front. They're gonna be expecting a statement from me soon and I've got a lot to deal with right now."

"Right...sorry." She looked around hesitantly, searching to crowd for god knows what before focusing back on him. "The broken arm and dislocated jaw...that wasn't me. They...well, they actually had me. I think I was probably seconds away from filling a body bag."

Gordon's tired face cracked into a slight, knowing smile. "And then you weren't." Montoya nodded.

It was good to know that his friend was still prowling about, looking out for whomever he could. Despite the unfortunate events that had occurred he'd managed to save yet another life tonight from being swallowed whole by this city. One of the good ones too as far as Gordon was concerned.

"He...well, he wasn't what I expected."

"Yeah," he chuckled.

"He gave me something for you."

Gordon's head snapped up at that bit of information, his own eyes now suspiciously scanning about to make sure nobody was close enough to overhear their conversation. "What?"

"He really seemed like he...uh...wanted you to get this. Like it was important," she replied, producing an unmarked black envelope from inside her coat. Montoya hesitantly handed over the package, allowing Gordon to examine it more closely. "After what he did I...well, I figured I owed him at least this little favor."

"Thanks Detective," Gordon said, still looking down at the object in his hands.

"Any idea what it is?"

"Not a clue."

* * *

><p>It was times like these that Andy Winslow most hated being Sean Riley's shadow.<p>

Capable, loyal bodyguards with a carefully honed sense of discretion were all too rare in the world of organized crime. It was a world where money was king and allegiances could sometimes shift at a moment's notice. Or at the right price.

Riley must have seen those traits...or something...in Andy when no one else had because he'd promptly hired him away from the Chechen's group when he'd still been just another sturdy back working the docks and taking protection money.

It was a position Andy had seized upon and flourished in, quickly becoming a trusted, albeit silent, figure within the Irish's hierarchy. Always slightly behind and to one side of Riley himself.

He'd rewarded the man with unparalleled loyalty and service despite numerous attractive offers to do otherwise. One had even surprisingly come from Ian, Sean's son, carefully plotting to usurp his father's power.

It was something that Andy had decided never to speak of with his employer.

His position also afforded him an unparalleled view of the ugliness and inhumanity of his profession. Most were either too low in the pecking order or too sheltered from the truth of what was really going on to grow disgusted with it. Unfortunately, Andy saw it all. It was a picture he was growing more and more disillusioned with every day. Sean Riley was a special kind of monster to do the things he did and make the kinds of decisions he did on a daily basis. Andy figured the other bosses were probably the same kind of animal. They had to be to survive.

If it weren't for Riley's legendary temper he may very well have already tempted fate and left. Today that temper was on full display with an intensity that even his bodyguard had never witnessed and it reminded Andy exactly why he stayed where he did and kept his mouth firmly shut.

The temper being displayed today though was hard not to understand...given what he'd just been told had happened to his son.

"_FUUUCK!_" The various papers accompanied by other odds and ends on his desk went flying, hurtling through the air and sending several of those present scurrying out of the way. He placed both hands down on its surface, his shoulders heaving as he stared unblinking at the wood desktop. "Goddammit," Riley muttered, barely whispering, still not looking up. Riley started shaking his head, slowly at first as he closed his eyes. "_Goddammit!_" he screamed, grabbing the only remaining item in front of him and throwing it with all his might at the far wall.

The heavy glass of the empty tumbler shattered spectacularly against the faded wallpaper when it struck.

He'd been going like this for the better part of a half hour. Leaving a path of destruction that didn't seem to include a respect for the health of those grouped around him. Thankfully the tide of anger seemed to be running its course, transforming into a quiet, cold, icy fire that brought with it a frightening focus.

"_This_," he yelled, slamming his fist down on the wood, " does _not_ go unanswered. You hear me?" The subdued but positive murmurs of consent seemed to calm him and he finally sat down behind his now completely barren desk. "Okay, listen...I don't blame any of ya for what happened. Okay?" He let his gaze pass over every one in attendance except for Andy who was stationed behind him. "Ian was his own man. He knew what he was doing. But," Riley hissed, thumping the desktop again, "But I want every little..._cocksucker..._that ran out on my boy to be brought here to me. They're gonna find out what happens when you leave one a my boys behind."

One man the bodyguard only knew by the name, Dewey, quietly slipped out of the room as he brought out his cellphone. The restaurant that got hit by the cops was in his territory. His ass was on the fire more than the others which meant he'd likely be already hunting down the poor souls who got away as a means to stay in Sean's good graces.

"And you," Riley said, his voice lowering into a deadly serious growl as he pointed to a figure leaning far too casually against the wall in one dark corner of the room. "This is war. You fucking hear me? War. I want the cop that did this dead! Then I want every other cop you can find dead too. Get me?"

The other men in the room stiffened noticeably, sharing nervous looks at the prospect of taking on the police. They couldn't even take on the Italians openly and now they were going gunning for the cops? None of them were willing to disagree with their boss about this though. Not right now.

The glow of a cigarette appeared in the corner as the man inhaled, his pockmarked cheeks wrinkling to reveal a tar stained smile as two small, beady eyes looked out from under a dirty beanie. "Depends. You want nice and clean or loud and messy?"

"What the _fuck _do you think?"

"Oh, I think my fee is about to go up."

Andy blinked. Nobody in the Irish organization much liked the undersized assassin they'd brought in from Boston. Too dirty, too cocky, too uninterested in everything and everyone else around him. There was something extremely suspicious about him that the hulking man just couldn't quite put his finger on. Still, nobody could argue with his skills. Or his results. Still, to have the nerve to actually talk back so casually to Riley was extremely disconcerting. Especially considering he was making demands of him before the man's son was even in the ground.

Even Sean seemed a bit taken aback by the reply, pausing for a few seconds in mid thought before sneering and simply replying, "Just get it done and don't fucking worry about it. You'll get what you're owed. I just want those fuckers buried. You hear me?"

The stained smile appeared again on the man's face, almost as though he'd known this was exactly what was going to happen before he took another drag off his lit cigarette.

"Done."

* * *

><p>Another night, another bout of sleeplessness interspersed with the vivid dreams of a half destroyed man. She saw him in her sleep, in her waking hours, behind her in the mirror; the memories of the man were haunting her very existence. Anna Ramirez had done a lot in her life. Both good and bad. She'd been idealistic...once. Truly believed in the job she'd committed herself to doing. In the end though the red blood that flowed through her veins proved thicker than the blue blood associated with her uniform.<p>

Her mother coming down with an extreme case of early onset Alzheimer's her first year out of the academy had devastated her. The woman who'd raised her and been her best friend could hardly remember Anna's name at times. The diagnosis of pancreatic cancer less than two months later had been the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. Her mother, in one of her lucid periods, demanded that they fight it and like the ever dutiful daughter, Ramirez decided to do everything in her power to make that happen.

Anna's life savings lasted less than two months. After that she began slowly and inexorably going deeper and deeper into debt. Creating a hole from which there was no light. It was her duty as a loving daughter though. Her mother had sacrificed much of her life and happiness to provide her daughter with the upbringing she'd had. Ramirez owed her everything.

In the end she practically went looking for Maroni as soon as she heard about the kind of money she could expect to make by simply turning a blind eye to some things or making a quick phone call for others. Duty to family easily won out over duty to her comrades.

She figured it was a painless crime. A victimless one most of the time. It was an assumption that brought about the series of events that would curse her to her dying day.

Sitting in her open window she took another sip of the cheap whiskey, feeling the familiar burn on the back of her throat even as her middle warmed in response. Straddling the sill, one foot on the outdoor fire escape, she stared absently at the tiny view her equally tiny apartment afforded her of the city.

Her mother had lasted another three months after Harvey Dent's death. At the time of her passing from the cancer she didn't even recognize Anna as an acquaintance, much less her adoring daughter. All the ill-gotten money and all the terrible deeds and she still hadn't been able to do anything for her only remaining family member.

Following the funeral it was all her Catholic upbringing could do to keep Ramirez's gun from putting a bullet through her brain and out the back of her head. She'd wanted to do it so badly too. It would have been so easy, so simple.

And now, all she saw was the hideously scarred and burned visage of a man whose life she annihilated.

She gulped down the last of her drink and ducked back under the raised window pane to go grab another. Hoping that with enough of the strong drink sleep might finally find her.

The creak of the metal outside was all the warning she got.

"Detective," came the familiar throaty voice.

"And why not," she said, holding up her empty glass in salute. "Chose the right night to drop by, Batman. Plenty of self loathing here to go around." She continued on to the small, dingy kitchen and grabbed the half empty bottle off the counter, filling her glass in a practiced motion.

On any other night his sudden appearance would have undoubtedly scared the hell out of her. Tonight though...tonight she was just too damned tired to care.

He stood just inside the window, sharp eyes seeming to take in the entirety of her little apartment in an instant before settling back on her.

"You know why I'm here."

"I do," she replied, nodding. "Guess I shouldn't really expect any beating around the bush from you, should I?" Without waiting for an answer she set her drink down and crossed to a small cabinet beside the front door, bending down to extract a file folder and small glass vial. Turning back to her intruder she said, "You should know, this was a bitch and a half to get my hands on." She extended it to him as she stepped forward. "Hope it was worth it."

He simply nodded and took the items from her, tucking them somewhere under his cape without even bothering to glance at them.

"Thanks for this, I guess?"

"For this?" he asked.

Ramirez gestured to where the files had disappeared within his dark folds. "For this. For letting me help. I...Listen, I really needed this. Something to make me feel whole again. Like I was doing something right for a change."

He seemed to contemplate this, weighing his response or the heaviness of her words, she couldn't tell. "You made a mistake," the Batman said, looking at her, but not at her...past her. "We all do. It's important that you're trying to do something about that."

"You know, the funny thing is I never thought I was doing anything wrong...before. At least...nothing too wrong. It wasn't until everything went so, _so _badly that it was so...obvious. I was caring for my mom and figured things were justified because of that. That the ends justified the means, you know? I mean...she was my mom." Ramirez picked her glass back up and took a long drink, feeling the burning in her throat mixed with the bitter sadness that was her constant companion these days. "Trouble is, once she was gone I made a pretty big realization."

"Which was?"

Ramirez sighed and looked sadly out one of the dirty windows. "My mother would have been ashamed."

He didn't respond as she felt the tears start brimming in her eyes again, burning like the alcohol, but for an entirely different reason. She wiped them away, the same as she did every time. Using the back of her wrist and her own stubborn personality to push it all back down. The hitch in her voice still gave her away though.

"I...I just hope you can use that stuff and stop what's happening out there. I'm trying to find out more, but I don't exactly have a very long leash these days." Ramirez chuckled darkly. "These days, most people on the force won't even give me the time of day."

"You're doing what you can. That's enough."

She snorted and laughed humorlessly at the complete absurdity of his statement. As far as she was concerned she had a debt she could never repay. One that was going to follow her even after this life had come to a close. "It's not, but thanks," she murmured.

He may have heard her or he may not have. Either way he turned back to her open window and with a grace and smoothness eerie for someone of his size he disappeared out of her dingy apartment and out into the night.

Ramirez looked down at the glass in her hand and the half full bottle on the small table in front of her. Wordlessly she put the glass down and twisted the cap back into place. She may not have felt lighter or in any way relieved of her demons, but at last...at long last...she figured she was ready for some sleep.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Next time, more Bruce and Selina. Is this going to be a nice, normal, healthy relationship? Ummm...no. Really? Did you honestly think it would be?_


	13. Chapter 13

_If you enjoyed this or any of the previous chapters, please take a second and send the author a review. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets them know you care. Seriously...it's like sending a jolt of motivation. We live on this stuff.  
><em>

_First and foremost, I want to take the time to thank all of those who took the time to leave a review. There was a great many of you and I appreciate and learn from each and every one. You guys rule. Keep it up._

_Alright guys...sorry for posting chapter nine again. My sleep deprived mind must have been playing tricks on me as I'm honestly not sure how I managed to accomplish that. Thanks for bearing with me. As promised...Bruce and Selina go on a date.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>"Oh, this must go over really well with the ladies," Selina smirked as the elevator doors opened, her eyes widening comically as she took in the sheer scale of the room it emptied into.<p>

"Good evening, Miss Kyle." A tall, distinguished older man was waiting patiently just to the left of her line of sight, his hands clasped professionally before him. He bowed his head ever so slightly in greeting genially invited her further inside. "Your coat?"

"Please, just Selina is fine," she replied, smiling slightly in response and shrugging her simple woolen peacoat off into the older man's waiting hands. "Nice place you've got here. Lots of...umm...space," she finished, gesturing to the soaring ceilings.

The butler smiled, a kindly yet mischievous glint in his eye and shrugged as he led her further into the expansive living room. "It is a comfortable enough place to set one's head at night."

"I think it's a little more than that."

He winked at her, the twinkle in his eyes contrasting with the serious, sarcastic tone that he responded in. "Well, when you have a head inflated to the size of Master Wayne's it _does _make a bit more room necessary."

Despite the joking tone Selina had been completely serious. No matter how much Bruce's butler might try to make light of the sprawling apartment, there was no denying the truth. Selina had been in and around the lifestyles of the extremely wealthy for several years now, rubbing elbows with the rich and doing her best at times to blend in among them in order to achieve whichever goals she'd had at the time. In all those years she'd never seen a more casual display of incredibly subtle opulence.

The towering ceilings of the penthouse alone were worth millions. A spectacular view was worth its weight in gold in any big city and Gotham was no different. It was a commodity. Something sought by the rich and influential as a means to further display their success and power. The soaring thirty foot windows in Bruce Wayne's living area required three stories of space in some of the most expensive real estate in the city. To many, it was simply an incredibly spectacular sight worthy of appreciation. To Selina, it couldn't have announced a nearly incomprehensible wealth any better than if the floor had been inlaid with precious stones the size of her fist.

"Master Wayne is freshening up at the moment, but he wanted me to apologize for his tardiness," the old man continued in his pleasant accent. "I have his assurances that he'll be joining you shortly. In the meantime," he gestured down a soaring, open hallway for her to continue on with him, "may I get you anything? A drink perhaps?"

"A glass of wine would be wonderful, Mister..."

"Oh, just Alfred, Miss." He smiled at her warmly. "The wine?"

"Anything red would be fine, Alfred. Thank you."

"Of course." He ushered her into what looked like a comfortable lounge before departing momentarily to fetch her drink.

The room featured the same towering ceilings and windows of the great room where she'd entered the lavish apartment. Here though, they seemed less intimidating, more intimate in a way. Something about the room brought the whole spectacle into a much cozier, more personal scale. Something to do with the furniture and arrangement of the space probably. Selina may have a keen eye for wealth, but interior design was outside her grasp. She wasn't even entirely sure what you would call it. Library? Lounge? Study? They all seemed to both fit and feel entirely inadequate all at the same time.

Located in one corner of the building the room offered sweeping, barely obstructed vistas both out to the ocean to the west and stretching away to the mainland and beyond far to the south. Deep, comfortable sofas and inviting armchairs were arranged around the room, many facing each other to provide separate comfortable spaces for conversation while at the same time largely facing the walls of glass, affording anyone utilizing them the ability to also easily appreciate the city's sights.

The remaining walls, those that weren't transparent, were covered in tall, handsome bookcases whose dark wood glowed warmly in the dwindling sunlight the windows allowed in. The shelves were, of course fully stocked as well. Far be it for a man like Bruce Wayne to suffer from something that looked any less than complete. Selina absently decided it was probably enough shelf space to outfit a small city library. She smiled at the thought that the entire thing might even be organized by the decimal system.

Skirting the perimeter of the room and passing the stacks, she slid a couple of fingers over the raised bindings. Of course there wouldn't be any weathered paperbacks, but she was pleasantly surprised at the wide assortment of reading material. Apparently someone around here actually took the time to read what was in this room. There were titles present in any number of categories; classics, mysteries, historical, reference, even...

Her fingers stopped on the smooth spine of a modern forensics textbook. Selina blinked. Strange, but not outside the realm of an eccentric billionaire she decided.

Nearby, on a cleared section of shelf, a small, gilded frame sat alone. Curious, Selina walked over and bent down to get a better look at the smiling faces it contained.

The photo was older, the dull sepia tones faded a tiny bit here and there from either sunlight or wear. A young Bruce stood, smiling up at two adults, presumably his parents, as they posed happily for the picture. Off to one side a third adult, Alfred, was standing rigidly at attention, a soft look gracing his features at the scene in front of him. Although meant to be a posed family photo, it was obvious that it had been snapped when none of them had been paying attention. In many ways it told a story better than any formal portrait could.

"The cellar has quite a few good vintages in it," Alfred said, breaking the relative silence. "I _do _hope you find this one to your liking."

"Thank you, Alfred," she said warmly, taking the proffered crystal goblet. "So, this isn't exactly going to be a typical dinner at home, is it?"

He smiled. "I suppose that depends, Miss. Typical for you or typical for Master Wayne?"

Selina chuckled lightly and continued smiling warmly at the charming older man. "I see your point." Obviously his idea of a quiet, casual dinner in was going to be something different from what she was used to. Although, upon a second thought Selina supposed she shouldn't be all that surprised. "So, you've known Bruce a long time," she said, glancing back at the faded family photo.

"I have," Alfred said, following her gaze and nodding thoughtfully. "I've been in service to the Wayne family since before he was born."

"They looked happy." Selina was still looking at the photo, speaking low.

"They were." He nodded. "Both of his parents doted on Master Bruce a great deal. It was a very...unique...thing to witness. One that many did not get the chance to appreciate as I did."

"It wasn't easy...for him, was it?" Selina asked. "Growing up that way, I mean."

Selina didn't miss the split second pause before the old man answered. Being with Bruce as long as he had there was probably a protectiveness ingrained in him for his employer, maybe even a paternal kind of dedication. Personal history might be a sensitive subject.

"No, Miss," he shook his sadly, "it certainly wasn't. I expect that any child forced to experience what he did in his youth would have a tough time of it though. No child should have their innocence removed like that."

She didn't doubt the difficulty of getting over a parent's death as a child, much less the deaths of both. Of course, that didn't even begin to bring into account the factor of having to watch them brutally gunned down in front of you. Maybe she'd better be careful with how she handled Wayne in the future? After something like what he'd gone through she couldn't really be surprised if he was a little...unhinged.

As usual, none of that did anything to relieve the smallest bit of envy that she felt when she considered that he'd at least gotten to know his parents, gotten to enjoy their presence and love. However brief it may have been and however dulled with time they may be he still had those memories.

A thought occurred to Selina, one that had been slowly developing since the night she'd first met Bruce. It was one that had been only evolving further as she got to know him. Despite her limited expertise with the man that was Bruce Wayne she saw something different in person than what she saw on the news and in interviews. Without thinking she blurted out before she could stop herself. "Is that why he wears the mask?"

The man's genial demeanor cracked, ever so subtly and for just the blink of an eye, but it was there. He paused for a moment before a grim grin tugged at his lips and he finally answered. "Begging your pardon, but I'm not sure I understand?"

Selina shrugged, narrowing her eyes in thought and looking back out the nearby windows. "Probably a poor metaphor," she said, "but it's kind of like that. Like a mask...or a...a persona he slips into. A charade. The one that you always see on TV."

"Ah, I see." The butler's shoulders noticeably sagged the slightest bit in relief. "That would probably be something to discuss with him. I believe, Master Wayne, simply enjoys keeping those who don't really know him at arm's reach. Deep down, I believe he is a man who strongly protects and appreciates his privacy."

"I can tell," she smirked. "And so can every other tabloid reader in Gotham." Alfred smiled genially at her dig. "He could certainly try a little harder if all he wanted was a little privacy. Hell, it almost seems like he's going out of his way in search of attention sometimes."

That genuine little sarcastic smile was firmly back in place on the older man's face now, erasing any of the concern that had flashed across it moments before, the sparkle back in his eye. "I know precisely what you mean," Alfred said. "I don't presume to know what on Earth is going through Master Wayne's head, but if you were to ask me...I believe he's simply trying to send me to an early grave."

"Now, why would I do that, Alfred?"

They both turned to the other door that lead into the room to find the subject of their discussion leaning casually against the door frame, an amused smirk gracing his attractive features.

"Hi, Selina," he said, disengaging himself from the wall and making his way over to the two of them.

Dammit if she wasn't blushing again, that familiar warmth on her face. And that was before he'd greeted her with a light peck on the cheek. That damned man and his damn little smile.

In as low a voice as she could manage she leaned in and asked the servant, "I don't have any idea what I'm getting myself into here, do I?"

"Oh, not even the slightest bit, Miss Kyle," he whispered back with a toothy grin and a subtle wink before he made his way out to check on their dinner.

* * *

><p>"Please tell me you don't eat that well every meal, because if you do I pretty much <em>have <em>to hate you."

Bruce grinned and leaned on the glass railing, looking out over the still bustling city. "Well," Bruce replied, "you _could_hate me...or you could have meals with me more often. You'd just have to suffer my company though, I'm afraid."

"So certain you're getting a second date, Mister Wayne?"

Bruce turned to face her, holding out his hand as if offering it to her to shake. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met. Bruce Wayne."

Selina laughed, the loud, full bodied one that he always derived such great pleasure from causing. "And this would be what," she asked, "the endless optimism that billions in the bank account provides? Don't ever let it be said that Bruce Wayne doesn't suffer from an abundance of confidence."

He shrugged, enjoying himself, and took another sip of what Selina no doubt presumed was scotch and ice. The taste of the dark brown tea mixed with the melting ice cubes was subtly sweet as it went down.

Things _had _gone well. Better than any date he could remember going on. Granted, those had pretty much all been more business affair for him that social outing, but the point remained. Dinner had been delicious and the conversation had been light and fun with subtle hints of something the slightest bit...risque at times. It also didn't hurt one damn bit that Selina was also the epitome of beauty and sexiness, alternating between a wonderful playfulness and an intriguing mystery that left him grasping for more.

They'd finished dinner and dessert over an hour ago and had wordlessly migrated out to the balcony, content to brave the clear, crisp night air and continue the evening rather than call an end. So, here he was, leaned up against the edge of the large outdoor space that wrapped a significant portion of the penthouse with Selina close by, ever so slightly leaning against his shoulder and lit only by the city lights. It was a situation that should have been far less warm than it was considering the temperature, but somehow wasn't in the least.

"I'll take my chances," Bruce said low, looking down to see her smiling ever so slightly back up at him.

"Hmmm...a risk taker, huh?"

Bruce couldn't help himself, choking back a loud snort. Bruce Wayne really wasn't the thrill seeking type despite what he'd told Lucius when he'd first arrived back in Gotham. Nobody would believe that, not really. Anything past breaking a few speed limits in expensive sports cars would raise too many eyebrows. Still he was fairly certain someone else he knew with an astounding habit of throwing himself off buildings, fighting large groups of well armed men, and inhaling engineered fear toxins would more than fall in that category.

Selina, for her part, was staring up at him curiously given his reaction, one eyebrow arched questioningly. "Something I said?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Just couldn't be farther from the truth. Not sure there's a lot of risk in life when you have the means my family does. Not like most people have on a day to day basis anyway."

"Probably true. You people in your gilded cages," she joked. After a moment of silence Selina continued, looking back out over the city and down to the cars far below them. "Still, life is risk, Bruce. Can't hide from that...no point in it." She let the words hang there in the air, content to let it be for the moment, but he could almost feel her mind churning beside him. After a moment when she still hadn't spoken he looked back down at her, the city lights playing across her profile as she met his look.

"Is that the reason for all the...games?" she asked. Bruce frowned in confusion. Did she think he was being less than genuine with his feelings for her? "I mean...I asked Alfred about it earlier...the charade you put on for everyone. The smug, uncaring, rich buffoon that everyone sees day in and day out."

"Caught that huh?" He tried to put on his best foppish grin, but she didn't look at him. Internally, his stomach knotted. This wasn't necessarily a conversation he was overjoyed to be having.

"Not easily. Probably wouldn't have at all if it weren't for our little meetings and even then it can be difficult." Selina looked at him, easily meeting his eyes and seeing the hesitation there, her green eyes digging deep. "It slips though, you know?. Lets little peeks of what I can only assume is the real you out from time to time." Selina paused, looking conflicted. "Is that why though? You're afraid to take a risk and let yourself really _be _Bruce Wayne? Cause it really seems like you're just playing a role sometimes."

Bruce sighed. This was not comfortable territory for him, talking about the persona he had in place to protect his _other _persona. It was something necessary he'd often told himself. Something to bear through so that people didn't associate Bruce Wayne with a cleverness and devotion that could ever place him and the Batman in the same category. "Listen..." he began, unsure of where he was going, but needing to say something. Perhaps he could diffuse things and change the subject.

Selina cut him off, clearly uneasy about the serious subject matter too and trying to give him some sort of an out while simultaneously still probing for information. "Just so you know, it's fine either way. You're allowed to have your secrets."

Bruce just nodded, waiting for her to keep going.

Selina shrugged. "You know me," she said, smiling, "always curious. But...I...I also like _that_Bruce I see little bits and pieces of. I like him a lot. He seems like a really good guy and I guess I'm curious why I can't see more of him? Why Gotham can't be allowed to meet him?"

He sighed again. She'd given him the chance to change the subject if he wanted, but she wasn't going to let this go. Not completely. At some point it was bound to resurface. So, he lied to her.

"Being the head of the corporation, being the face of things...the fame...it's just not something I've ever really wanted. I don't think I've ever really been prepared for all this, you know? I had a pretty sheltered time growing up, even more so after my parents' deaths. It wasn't until a few years ago that I decided I wanted to honor their memory. Now...well, I guess I'm finding I'm not sure how to be the man that would make them proud. I guess I just figured that this was how people saw me and went with it."

Rachel had once told him his parents _would_be proud of his...other...activities. That they'd be proud of the man he'd grown up to become and the fight he'd sought to undertake. That it was worthy. Sometimes, secretly, he still wondered.

His response hadn't been a total lie either. Privately he chafed under the fame and the spotlights and the notoriety. It wasn't something he sought so much as it was something he used, something he bent to his will because it proved convenient. The only thing that wasn't true then was the reason for the act in the first place and that was something he had no intention of revealing to Selina.

Seemingly placated she leaned further into him though, threading her arm through his while she looked at him with her, by now, familiar smirk.

"So, what..._you're_trying to tell me that Bruce Wayne is a womanizing idiot..."

"Idiot?," he interrupted, obviously feigning the hurt in his voice given his small smile.

"Yup, womanizing idiot," she mock hissed. "Now shhh...don't interrupt. Okay, so you're...that way... because, according to you, it's all a defense mechanism?" Both eyebrows stayed up high on her forehead, mocking him as she watched for his reaction.

"See, it sounds stupid when you put it that way."

"What other way is there to put it?" Selina laughed, wedging herself even tighter into him to playfully bump him in the side. "Hence, the idiot."

It didn't escape Bruce's powers of observation that she didn't retreat after the nudge though, choosing instead to stay warmly tucked up against him. It was not a situation he was finding himself eager to leave.

"So, why not get away from here? Go somewhere where you _can _be yourself?" she asked. "I have it on good authority that you've got the means."

Bruce shrugged. "This is my home. My family's been here as long as anyone can remember...trying to make it a better place. Who am I to destroy that legacy?"

In some ways his entire existence was just that simple. He could have turned from this city long ago, turned his back on the place that took everything good in his life from him at such an early age and run. Left the country to never return and build a life abroad. Hell he had the means to damn near buy his own country if he'd really wanted to. It really was something so elegantly simple that would bring him back and that would keep him forever returning, striving to return _his _city and its innocent patrons into the light.

"No offense, but what good has it done? I mean really?" Selina scoffed. Looking out over the city she shivered slightly. Whether it was from the cold or from a dug up memory Bruce couldn't tell, but he found himself freeing his arm from her grip and snaking it around her instinctively, bringing her in tighter. Hesitantly, she looked up at him, surprising sadness and pain radiating from behind her emerald eyes. "Look around. Is this city any better because of it? Not really. In the end it just feels like the good people seem to die because of the wicked...and nothing changes."

Bruce frowned, responding in a whisper. "I don't want to believe that. I was taught that one man _can _make a difference."

Selina smiled sadly, leaning her head back against his shoulder. "Wouldn't have taken you for an optimist," she whispered.

"I wasn't always one." Bruce grinned down at her, wanting to break the sudden change in mood...her change in mood. "Believe it or not, but I used to have a dark side."

"Shocking." The tone of her voice conveyed just _how _shocked she really wasn't. "Might be interested to see that sometime," she said, her eyes darting back and forth between Bruce's eyes and his mouth as she subtly leaned closer, tilting her head back slightly in invitation. "Girls always have a thing...for...bad...boys..."

The clearing of a throat broke the spell of the moment, revealing an uncharacteristically nervous, fidgeting Alfred standing a good fifteen feet away.

"Alfred?" Bruce asked, being sure to lace the single word with as much frustration and annoyance as possible.

"Master Wayne, Miss Kyle," he said, nodding to each separately. "I'm ever so sorry for the interruption, but I'm afraid, sir, that Wayne Enterprises is experiencing an emergency of sorts. There's an urgent call for you."

Despite the distraction Selina was providing, Bruce didn't miss the subtle code phrase that he and Alfred had agreed upon long ago. It was something both men had decided might prove useful if ever Bruce had to be pulled away from one of the myriad social functions at which he was expected to make an appearance. Its use meant something was happening. Something that required the attention of someone other than Bruce Wayne.

Dammit.

One of the few nights when he was actually putting off transforming himself into the Batman and something just _had _to happen. There was always the possibility that it could be a false alarm, something that didn't really require his presence.

"Well, maybe..."

As if reading his mind Alfred shot down that theory in a hurry. "I'm afraid this particular emergency may require a great deal of your attention, sir."

He leaned back against the railing, watching any sign from Alfred for a clue. The man, as ever, gave away nothing he didn't intend to. "Gotta be kidding me..." Bruce muttered under his breath.

Apparently Selina knew that meant their night was coming to an end as well. At least she was smiling though.

"Oh well, Bruce. I'd better be getting home anyways, it's getting late. God forbid my cat should be left to starve." She placed her hand gently on his forearm. "Not a bad night for having to babysit a billionaire." Without waiting for a response she tilted her head up and kissed Bruce ever so gently and far, far too quickly, barely allowing him any time to savor the feeling before pulling away, smiling devilishly afterward at his slightly dazed reaction. "And Bruce, that thing about being so certain you were getting a second date?" Selina smiled coyly at him, winking as she slowly began backing away. "Well, I think you know where to find me."

The trio exchanged a smattering of farewells, Selina even taking a quick moment to give Alfred a peck on the cheek before assuring the men that she knew her way out and didn't need a tour guide.

"Alfred, if I didn't think you'd actually enjoy it I'd fire you," Bruce muttered, shrugging out of his coat and handing it off to his butler as they made their way back inside. "You're lucky you make such a good protein shake."

"Thank heavens for small miracles then, sir," he replied drolly. "My apologies, but I felt this couldn't wait."

Apparently the police had received a call informing them where they could find several dead bodies. Something about the whole situation seemed a bit...off...though. At least it had to Alfred, anyways. Thus the interruption.

"No," Bruce sighed, clapping his friend on the back, "you made the right call. Just bad timing is all."

"Things _did _seem as though they were going well, sir. She certainly seemed to be a lovely young woman."

Bruce smirked. "I'm glad you approve, Alfred."

The two men entered the master bedroom, hunching slightly to enter the secretly constructed "safe room" within where one of five alternate suits of armor that Bruce had stashed throughout the city waited.

"Ironic that it's usually you that's trying to keep me out of costume and encouraging me to have fun."

"That fact had not been lost on me, Master Wayne."

* * *

><p>Six people were discovered murdered that night. Seemingly unrelated and random except for the anonymous message the police had received containing nothing but the five addresses where the bodies were later found.<p>

Joanna Olsen was the first, found shot twice in her torso by a small caliber bullet. Early twenties and cute, she'd been an office manager at a downtown law firm. She'd only been living in Gotham City for four months after moving from the west coast.

Kyle Estevez was found at the second address, again shot twice in the chest. He was a well liked middle school principal and community activist in his mid-fifties. He left behind a devastated wife, three daughters, one son, two grandchildren, and a mourning community.

Third was Roger Walcott, killed like the others in the living room of his small apartment. An unemployed ex-convict, he may have been the least surprising of the murders given the crowd he ran with. He'd managed to keep his nose clean though since his latest parole and had been steadily attending his required anger management sessions.

Found at the fourth address on the list was the body of Arturo Sanchez, the teenage son of prominent investment banker Jorge Sanchez. Found in the bedroom of his family's brownstone, shot once in the back and twice in the chest. His father had just received a promotion that was supposed to move him and his family down the coast in another three weeks.

The final address was the only one that contained more than one body. Murdered together, Helen and Ryan Erickson were found on the floor of their dining room, shot just like the rest. The two had only been married for a week, not even enough time to have gone on a honeymoon yet.

Everyone was understandably confused by the killings, at first. From all the available evidence it was clear that none of the victims had ever even met one another. There were simply no links or tenuous threads existing to further investigate. Other than the bullets and shell casings they had nothing to go on, but some on the police force were already scrambling, convinced that a new serial killer had arrived in Gotham. The more seasoned officials kept digging.

Ballistics would later match the murder weapon used in all six killings, but it didn't really matter by then. The message had been decoded and received.

It took the police three days to figure it out.

It took Bruce eight hours.

Joanna Olsen. Initials JO.

Kyle Estevez. Initials KE.

Roger Walcott. Initials RW.

Arturo Sanchez. Initials AS.

Helen Erickson. Initials HE.

Ryan Erickson. Initials RE.

_JOKER WAS HERE._

The only problem was, the serial murderer known only as the Joker was still securely residing within his cell at Arkham Asylum.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Let me know what you think. More than anything, the romance/attraction angle and Bruce and Selina's complicated relationship is where I second guess myself the most. Curious to hear from you about it. What's working? What's not? This isn't some falling all over each other kind of love. They both have reasons to avoid it...as well as hang ups that don't make them very good at it. Hope you liked it._

_Hoping to get the next chapter completed and posted in a timely manner. Give me some motivation folks!_


	14. Chapter 14

_Alright, you know the spiel. Please review and let me know what you think. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets us authors know you care. Seriously...it's like sending a jolt of motivation. Update frequency is directly proportional to the amount of reviews.  
><em>

_First and foremost, I want to take the time to thank all of those who took the time to leave a review. There was a great many of you and I appreciate and learn from each and every one. You guys rule. Keep it up._

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>As Gotham City's newest District Attorney, Janice Porter had been more or less baptized by fire. Thrown in the deep end and left to fend for herself. Following the murders of the city's top two prosecutors she'd more or less inherited the job. Months later and her title was still merely the interim DA, holding the office only until the City Council finally got around to organizing another election for the position.<p>

An election she probably wouldn't be able to win.

Without the money, supporters, or charisma of Finch or Dent she didn't have the political muscle to sustain a campaign. The only claim he'd be able to make for the job was going to be her record and experience. She _had _been the one to put The Joker in Arkham, but in all honesty that trial had been a mere formality. Everyone knew he was insane. This town never hurt for bad deeds and big cases though.

She leaned against one of the giant concrete columns that graced the entrance to Gotham's Classical styled Superior Court building, adjusting her sunglasses before recrossing her arms over her chest.

Oddly enough, it was a was a civil case that brought her downtown today, Falcone vs. Sabatino, as the docket proclaimed. Since it wasn't a criminal trial there was no need for Gotham's District Attorney to have been there watching other than professional curiosity or the fact that depending upon the outcome she could very well be the one to face the resulting whirlwind.

It was a possibility that was looking pretty likely at the moment.

Both men had employed some top of the line legal talent to argue their case, Alberto even importing some in from Los Angeles. Janice had to hand it to the man, he had balls. Not many people were willing to go toe to toe with the head of the Galante Family in the courtroom, or really anywhere for that matter. That the young man was doing this because of some kind of far-fetched idealism was something completely foreign to Gotham and its chief prosecutor. He certainly didn't need the money, so what else did that leave? The District Attorney still had a tough time believing anyone would willingly risk their own life merely out of some sense of justice. Admirable though it might be, it was also incredibly adverse to living a long, healthy life.

Porter did it as little as she could, attempting to stick her neck out only when she had a near certain conviction. Despite having noble goals and an honest desire to clean up her hometown she also had no intention of facing a similar fate as the last two DA's. Janice liked her head right where it was thank you. She was hoping to reverse the trend and start expanding the life expectancy of Gotham City's prosecutors rather than shrinking it.

By the end of the day blood had won out over the status quo and how things in Gotham were normally done and Alberto Falcone had surprisingly been awarded ownership of seventy percent of his father's old business holdings. All those properties he could legally prove his father had owned. It probably helped his cause that the Italians no longer had practically every Circuit and Superior Court Judge in their pocket. Porter hoped those days were permanently in the past.

At the announcement most of the spectators on hand had taken off for the exits, the reporters angling to try and be the first to get the verdict to their editors. They were outside with Porter now, waiting alongside the always hovering paparazzi to catch the participants as they left. No doubt hoping for an interview or quick sound bite to finish things off.

They were also probably waiting to see if the Italian Boss would attack Falcone right there on the Courthouse steps too. That would certainly prove plenty sensational and would certainly provide the photographers one hell of a picture.

She didn't hold out any hope of that happening though. Despite his infamous reputation Johnny Sabatino didn't have the temper that some of his predecessors possessed. Or at least he had the ability to control it to a greater degree.

As expected Sabatino looked like he was about ready to explode when he emerged from the huge wooden doors, his face darkly reddened and tense as he shuffled out of the grand old building and down the stairs stiffly and without comment, slipping away in his black town car. Janice couldn't help but smirk. It was likely he'd been well coached by his legal team to give away nothing. No statements, nothing to give the circling vultures something to feed on.

No reason to make yourself the prime suspect if Alberto were to wind up dead either. Not that he wouldn't be anyway.

Falcone and his legal dream team exited a few minutes later, looking pretty much directly opposite of his opponent. The proverbial cat who'd eaten the canary, judging by the wide grin radiating on his face.

Also unlike Sabatino he was more than willing to mug for the cameras, patiently answering practically any question thrown his way from the gathered media as they crowded around him.

Porter had stuck around to see the spectacle that would follow the trial as much as anything else. She already knew all the answers Falcone would give. Hell, even the members of the press knew them, but they'd play their little game anyway. He'd just regurgitate the same sound bites he'd said on nearly every Gotham news talk show he could get on about wanting to do the right thing and repairing his family's legacy in Gotham.

Janice also wanted to get a better sense of the man himself. Why any man would choose to leave the Mediterranean Coast for Gotham's dingy shores was a mystery to her. Why that same man would then willingly piss off one of the biggest, most dangerous dogs on the block for items of little worth to himself just made things even more curious.

Apparently the man wasn't completely crazy though, judging by the trio of giants that had joined his party when they left the confines of the building. Given their size, the three looked like they should have played linebacker for the Knights, huge...but with a sureness...an athleticism and posture that instantly let everyone know that they knew their business. Even by Gotham standards they were heavily armed too, machine pistols and handguns very apparent beneath suit jackets that looked almost comical given the circumference of their arms.

"And you think that the citizens of Gotham are ready to believe that a Falcone could be genuinely concerned with their well-being?" One female reporter was shouting the question at him while the whole crowd strained forward to get their cameras and tape recorders closer.

Falcone smiled, flashing white teeth to the onlookers. "I don't expect to win _anyone's_ hearts and minds simply by talking about it," he replied. "It's true, my family has been a blight upon this city since before my father's time. I haven't denied that, it's common knowledge. All I'm asking from the good people of Gotham is an open mind and a chance...a chance for me to prove that a Falcone _can _do good instead of evil."

"And you think the Galante Family is just going to waltz away and hide after what just happened to them? Aren't you scared?" The question came from an overweight red faced man in an ill-fitting suit.

"Oh, I'm all too familiar with the fact that I'm only human so of course I worry about my safety. Nobody actually goes around looking to be a martyr after all. I trust the Gotham Police Department implicitly though. Those brave men and women have been fighting this battle alone and for far longer than anyone should have to. I just think it's about time they had some help...and I'm only too glad to offer what assistance I can." He smiled again for the assembled onlookers, prompting another round of flashbulbs to go off. "Ladies and gentlemen...I'm sorry, but if you'll excuse me."

Three large black SUV's pulled up to the curb as Falcone finished with the reporters, swallowing his entire group quickly and efficiently before heading east into the growing rush hour traffic.

Janice Porter shrugged and started down the stairs for the sidewalk. She could at least catch the six train before it got dark if she made it to the station fast enough. She still needed to review quite a few witness statements for one of her pending cases before she could call it a day. It was certain to be another late night for her.

Trudging up the street she reflected that at least the man was taking precautions. He obviously held _some _value for his life. Still, she wouldn't want to be taking on the Italians no matter what preparations were made. Sure, it was noble and all, but to her it still just made no damn sense.

There just wasn't any profit to be gained from any of it that she could see.

* * *

><p>"Would it really be asking too much for a kitchen in your lair?" Bruce looked up to see Alfred stepping away from the old elevator carrying a tray with his lunch on it. "It becomes a <em>bit<em> repetitive to continue bringing you meals down here day after day. Perhaps if you didn't find it _quite _so impossible to come upstairs and feed yourself..."

Bruce dropped the police file he'd been skimming, his feet propped up on the nearby work table. "Alfred, tell me...when exactly did you become such a whiner?"

"Ah, yes, snark...how wonderfully refreshing," the older man remarked, setting down the tray next to the files at Bruce's feet. "As though I needed more reasons to allow you to starve to death, sir."

Bruce just grinned and shook his head, glancing back over his shoulder where the computers were still compiling data on the toxin samples Ramirez had provided. Like the police lab had discovered, it was something...else. Highly complex, highly fatal, and highly...organic. In fact, the few ingredients he'd been able to identify were all plant extracts or derivatives thereof. An oddity considering most poisonous substances these days were highly manufactured and constructed from scratch in order to maximize their effectiveness. That this seemed to be completely natural meant it was all the more complex and difficult to create. That fact was why Bruce now had the computer running through every botanical database it could access looking for answers.

That was one thing the police lab couldn't do.

"The latest shipment of wigs will be arriving tomorrow, sir. I thought I'd go pick them up once they arrived in town."

"Hmmm?" Bruce asked, picking another folder off the pile and flipping through it absently. "Yeah, fine. We can get started on them tomorrow night then."

They'd been continuously testing every red haired wig they could get their hands on since Councilman Vargas' murder several months previous at the hands of a mysterious redheaded individual. Comparing fiber strands to those he'd collected at the crime scene was monotonous, time consuming, and a long shot, but besides that and the ongoing analysis of the poison they really didn't have any other moves to make in investigating the murders. You simply couldn't discern motive or a pattern from just the two acts. There was just no way to make that a big enough sample size.

Out of habit Alfred started straightening up some of the files that littered the work table off to one side, carefully organizing and stacking them. "The Riley shooting, sir?"

Bruce stood up and stretched, coaxing his aching muscles to respond despite the dull pain. "Yeah, just going over it again. Still trying to get my head around it."

"So, you still believe the detective's account of the circumstances surrounding Mister Riley's demise?" Bruce didn't respond, just pursing his lips and watching Alfred straighten up the work area. "The simpler conclusion would be that he's merely lying."

"Believe me," Bruce sighed, "I wish I thought he was. If it was just a case of a cop taking the law into his own hands then it'd be easy. Unfortunately, no...I believe him, which makes it one hell of a head-scratching story."

"So, you're assuming our mysterious gunman didn't simply...miss?"

Bruce nodded, crossing back to the table and picking up the police analysis of the mystery gunshot. The crime scene techs had been able to discern from its trajectory that it had originated from the roof of an office building two blocks over from where Riley had been shot. An office building that also happened to have terrific line of sight to both the restaurant the police had raided as well as most of the surrounding alleyways.

"Look at it this way...if the shooter _had_ missed and was trying to kill Detective Petit then he'd have had ample time to fire more than just the one round. In his statement Petit admitted to standing completely still after he'd killed Riley rather than react to the shooter." Bruce looked back up at his butler, closing the file. "I can't think of an easier target. If our gunman is good enough to get a bullet within an inch of him at that distance when he was still moving...albeit slowly...then he should have been able to hit him once he was stationary. I think our mystery man wanted to miss _and _I think he was trying to make sure it was Petit that pulled the trigger."

Alfred hesitated, frowning. "To what end, sir?"

"Dunno...not yet, anyway. Petit's not an easy scare though," Bruce replied, picking up another file. This time the personnel file on Detective William Petit. "He's a decorated ex-Marine with over a decade on the force." He paused, flipping pages and studying the notations. "He's seen plenty of action in his day, both with the military and the GCPD. Various letters of commendation...a couple of medals for valor...and some red flags for excessive force too. Looks like Internal Affairs has had a look at him a couple times, but never for corruption. In the end it paints the portrait of a man that wouldn't be easily rattled." He tossed the file back on the top of the stack. "Someone who has good trigger discipline, even in the heat of battle."

"So, you're implying that it would certainly take a _lot _to make the man flinch as he said he did? Given his history of excessive force and predilection to stay calm under fire, then wouldn't that support the theory that he's simply lying?"

Bruce frowned and just stared at his butler. Alfred had a point.

"Okay, for the moment, let's operate under the belief that he's telling the truth though," Bruce said, waiting for Alfred to nod in understanding before going on. "So, now it's gone from a good shot to an exceptional one. Putting a bullet that close to a man's ear intentionally, but still missing...that's not easy."

"Yes sir."

"Plus, he had to know about the raid ahead of time in order to be in position to take his shot. He couldn't have predicted exactly what was going to happen though, which is why he chose the top of that particular building...best line of sight. So he could react to a fluid situation."

"I see," Alfred said, interlacing his fingers in front of him as he sat down across from the younger man. "Our mystery man could have gotten his information from a source within the police department? Obviously that wouldn't come as especially novel or shocking, seeing as how the precedent has been set before."

"I thought of that, hence all the personnel files." Bruce gestured to a second stack of files, the same one from which he'd picked out Petit's biography earlier. "Nothing jumps out at me...no large debts, suspicious deposits, family troubles, or personal weaknesses to speak of. Gordon pieced the MCU back together personally with cops he felt he could trust." Bruce paused, staring at the neat stack of paper. "Granted, I've been wrong about this before, but for the moment I'm looking at a different theory."

"And that theory would be?"

"Tell me this...off the top of your head...who do we know that could make that shot?" Bruce asked.

Alfred didn't even hesitate with his answer. "I assume you're referring to our disgusting little friend in the beanie?"

"I am." Bruce stood and began pacing back and forth slowly, allowing himself a moment to think before he explained his theory to his trusted friend. "_The Riddler_ would have access to Riley's plans as well as any deals that were going down. What if he was the one that alerted Gordon and the police? What if he then made the call to Ian Riley warning him that the cops were on their way? It would give him all the chaos he needed to make sure Riley ended up dead."

"It makes sense, Master Wayne," Alfred replied, "but it unfortunately raises more questions. Why kill Mister Riley when his father is Nigma's employer? And, if he was going to kill his son, then why not do it himself? Why go to the trouble of having Petit commit the killing?"

Bruce stopped pacing, considering it for a moment. "He might be getting paid by Riley, but I don't think Riley is Nigma's employer."

"And you're again referring back to this Black Mask person, I take it?"

He nodded. "Killing Ian and the rest of those men, plus the other arrests from that night weakens the Irish substantially. Blame his murder on the GCPD and you can be all but certain that Sean will retaliate. It weakens two groups that Black Mask will have to deal with eventually. It also keeps the attention off of him." He groaned, threading his hands through his hair as he sat heavily down across from his ever placid butler. "The tricky part is proving any of that though. Nigma knows what he's doing. He's not going to make many dumb mistakes."

Alfred's brow furrowed, apparently considering their options while Bruce stared off into the depths of the cave, himself in thought as well. "According to your theory Nigma had to contact both Lieutenant Bullock and Mister Riley in order to execute his plan, correct?" Bruce focused across the table at the older man, curiously nodding after a second. "I hesitate to point this out, but both men's cellular phones may be a good place to start, sir. Wouldn't they most likely be in police custody?"

Bruce blinked. Link the two phone calls and you could at least prove that the same person made both calls. That would give his theory more weight and at least remove the specter that there were more dirty cops within the MCU.

He nodded, still deep in thought and already planning his next move, but unable to help the smile that spread across his face after a moment. "Alfred, you're a genius," he said, looking back up at him.

"I do try, sir."

"I'll get started tonight."

Alfred's eyebrows arched high on his forehead in response. "Planning to knock on the door to the police evidence room in cape and cowl then, Master Wayne? I hardly consider that prudent."

Bruce smirked. "Actually, I was thinking of something a little more subtle, Alfred. I'm going to ask Ramirez for her help again. See if she can't get access to the evidence and make copies of the SIM cards from Bullock and Riley's cellphones. I'll give her the equipment she'll need and we can..."

The shrill beep of the computer interrupted him, powering up out of standby mode to display the results of the comprehensive botanical search he'd had it running. A window popped up over the top of the listing in the central monitor.

_Matches Found_

"Hold that thought," Bruce said absently to Alfred, striding over to the swivel chair in front of the monitors where he sat down heavily, wheeling himself over to the keyboard. Alfred stayed where he was, but once again he began straightening the table.

"Huh," Bruce muttered.

"Sir?" Bruce didn't answer, his concentration fully on the data in front of him as he opened up further search windows to cross reference the findings. Alfred rolled his eyes at his employer's single mindedness. "Shall I assume that means you've found something then, Master Wayne?"

"What? Oh, sorry, Alfred. It's just...well, I know why the techs didn't find anything when they checked it against known pathogens and toxins." Alfred rose and crossed to the computer station, standing behind Bruce and watching the information over his shoulder. "None of the ingredients the computer identified are toxic...well, they are...but they're not fatal. Not really, not in normal doses. _Nerium oleander, Dieffenbachia maculata _to name a few...and a ton of..._Toxicodendron radicans _from the looks of it."

"Poison ivy, sir?"

Bruce nodded without looking back at the man, continuing to scroll down the screen. "Or at least a highly concentrated version of its oils. Put together enough of these and concentrate them like this and it would definitely prove quickly fatal if ingested...probably attacking multiple body systems given the mix of ingredients. Some of these are rare strains though, possibly cultivated and crossed with others to achieve something far more dangerous than what would normally occur in nature." He frowned, reaching the end of the list. "Most of the ones I recognize are incredibly common, some even houseplants. There'd be too many of those to try and track them and the cultivated species are probably custom bred and won't show up in a search." He pushed back and leaned back in his chair, his head cocked to the side slightly as he stared at the screen in thought.

"Perhaps," Alfred said, "a search of the species you don't know will turn up something uncommon enough to investigate?"

He leaned forward, keying in the first search string for some kind of obscure _Euphorbia_ cultivar. "It's not perfect, but it's worth a try," he said. "Maybe we'll get lucky and something will pop up I can pursue."

"One can only hope, Master Wayne."

"You know...the thing I don't get is the delivery method though. Rather than putting this in their food or injecting them she actually puts it on her lips and kisses them. The murderer is risking their own life simply for a bit of dramatics."

"Ironically, I've almost voiced that same question many nights myself," Alfred remarked drolly.

"I'm serious, Alfred. She's depending on her kiss getting some of the toxin into their mouths so that they can ingest it. If it's just on the skin it may not be fatal. Not exactly the most effective method unless..." Bruce sat up straight, still staring at the monitors. Before Alfred could mount an inquiry into his reaction he continued, busily entering commands into the computer as he spoke. "Unless it's absorbed through the lips somehow. Poison Ivy affects the skin, being absorbed directly, but that's an allergic reaction. Maybe there's something else here that works through direct contact," Bruce said, stopping the ongoing search program and entering the new parameters. "If we find those then we might narrow down the search."

"I hesitate to bring this up, but should we be looking for an antidote?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's too fast acting for an antidote to be practical and there's no way to inoculate against it without building up individual tolerances to the different plants." He half turned to look back at Alfred. "Are you afraid I'm going to let her kiss me?"

"You do have a habit of sampling the various poisons to be found around Gotham."

"Alfred, once isn't a habit and besides...he blasted me with that," Bruce smirked. "I didn't exactly go out that night looking to find out what the worst stuff I could inhale might be. I promise, I'll try to control myself around her."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Not the longest or most action packed chapter, I know. Still, it was necessary and I tried to keep it from becoming too long. We're getting to see that detective mind at work here at least. Next chapter promises some fun solo Selina action though (get your head out of the gutters). Thankfully I won't have a holiday weekend to contend with in getting the next update completed either. _

_By the way, metaphorical cookie to anyone who sees the Burton Batman quote from Chapter 13. Not-So-Subtle-Hint: Selina says it pretty early on in the chapter. _


	15. Chapter 15

_How boout it guys? Let's see those reviews and make a guy happy. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets us authors know you care. I wasn't kidding when I said that update frequency is directly proportional to the amount of reviews.  
><em>

_First and foremost, I want to take the time to thank all of those who do take the time and energy to leave a know who you are and each and every one of you guys rule. Keep it up._

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>"Seriously?" Selina muttered under her breath, being careful not to raise her voice too loudly given the time and her present location. "What the <em>hell<em>?"

She'd been working at the keypad for over a half hour now without any luck.

The first keypad, the one on the exterior door of the building two floors below, had been child's play. Selina had been able to record video of someone entering it earlier in the day and then been able to deduce the eleven digit code even though his hand blocked the view a couple of times. It had taken all of thirty seconds.

She hadn't been expecting the second keypad though. It hadn't shown up in her exhaustive intelligence gathering efforts. It was unusual and made her wonder what else hadn't shown up.

The entire building possessed far more security than your average residence usually boasted. Hell, alone an eleven digit code could already be considered excessive, but two separate, different eleven digit codes? That didn't even start to take into account the bodyguards and other security measures. Apparently Falcone was taking the threat Sabatino represented pretty seriously.

She'd never failed or been caught on a job before. Never. She didn't make mistakes, didn't fail. Then she came to Gotham City. Apparently this city operated differently.

Selina glanced at her watch and released another frustrated breath.

Less than five minutes for her little random number generator to do its job on the code and get her through the inner door. If she wasn't inside the outer perimeter by then with its cameras and motion sensors it was all over anyway.

She'd looped the cameras for thirty-five minutes figuring that with the code in hand she'd be in and out in no time. Now, she was definitely pushing things though. Once the cameras snapped back on the big men with big guns would start showing up and she'd be in some real trouble.

Her little gadget was busy scrolling through codes at the blink of an eye, probably having already tried tens of millions of combinations in the time she'd been there. Sadly, with the amount of number combinations eleven digits afforded there were billions though. God she missed the usual four or six number security codes. Most people were too lazy to memorize eleven digits. Much less two different ones.

It was saying something that _this _was still the least secure method of entry into Alberto's lofty residence. The vents were locked off, stairway doors welded shut, and the windows had vibration sensors attached even though they were a couple dozen stories above ground level. All in all it was quite the setup. The Fort Knox of Gotham she'd already dubbed it. A royal pain in the ass. It was assuredly a beautifully swanky place to live that she still happened to be nowhere near, crouched as she was near the bottom of the building and facing a silent, unyielding door.

It had taken Selina three days to decrypt and sift through the information she'd managed to lift from Rupert Thorne's secret stash. Like all those trails she'd followed before this one, she'd found a clue embedded in the data, but not the answer she'd been seeking for over the past two years.

It was a clue that led her straight to Alberto Falcone.

Carmine Falcone, despite his uncouth appearance and brusque attitude, was a meticulous man at his core. You had to be to be as successful as he was at running a city from behind the scenes and staying out of the path of the law for as long as he had. Some of that care for detail manifested itself in keeping careful, private records of all his business dealings. Or having someone do it for him. The rumors had always told of a ledger, containing everything up to and including blackmail, extortion, bribes, protection rackets, and even payroll. There wasn't actually a journal or book, but there were records...probably digital ones considering the times.

Those records had also never been found. Not by the police and not by the Italians or Irish, though god knows they had looked. The police could probably have used them to round up everyone the mob had ever involved themselves with and the mobs could have used them to blackmail their way to power.

Nobody took their existence lightly.

Surprisingly enough, it turned out Thorne was the protector of Carmine Falcone's secrets all along. At least that's what the information she'd lifted from his secret little safe indicated. He'd been more integral to the former crime bosses' operations than anyone had known. The behind the scenes operator and archivist for lack of a better term. Why he hadn't taken over the gang after Carmine's imprisonment was a mystery to Selina given what she'd seen once she cracked into it. He certainly wasn't Italian, but given his connections and the information he would have wielded that shouldn't have stopped him. In the end it probably had more to do with the fact that he didn't need the job. He was wealthy and powerful in his own right with a thriving business empire that was, save a few under the table dealings, completely legitimate.

He probably just didn't want to risk everything he'd built. Of course, he could also still simply fear Falcone.

Why he'd hung on to the records of his time working with Carmine so long after the man's imprisonment then was another mystery. Some kind of nostalgia? Some piece of hope or strange sense of commitment should the man ever manage to emerge from Blackgate alive? There was no way to know, but he _had_ held on to them.

Selina was certainly thankful for that small piece of luck now.

Within the deluge of electronic information she'd found links to businesses and their corresponding corporate accounts. Links that could be traced back to Europe and some of the clues she'd already discovered back in the early days of her mission. Back to Italy and London where this had all started.

Two days ago those businesses had very infamously changed hands, belonging now to Alberto Falcone. Taken, ever so gently away from the Galantes and Johnny Sabatino. Now, Selina needed access. She wasn't sure if it was going to be yet another clue or the answers she sought, but at least she knew where to find them.

If she could only get herself in the damn building.

Selina checked her watch again. Two minutes twenty-five seconds until the cameras came back on. She'd give her little hacker another minute and a half before she went to Plan B.

Not that she actually had a Plan B at the moment.

She ran a fidgety hand absently over her hair...or where her hair would be if not for the hood and blew out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Maybe she could save the codes her toy had tried unsuccessfully and come back and do the same thing a half dozen more times? Eventually she'd get through all the possible code combinations and get in. Of course that would take an abundance of time and patience was something Selina had never been well known for.

That was also assuming that the codes never changed.

The only other viable option was one she had no desire to entertain for reasons she continued to deny down to her very core. It was a strange conundrum. Refusing a course of action while also trying to convince yourself that the reasons why didn't exist.

Such was her ever complicated life, made more so by recent...developments. Developments that were strangely both welcome and unwelcome.

This wasn't going to work she decided before her self imposed deadline had even passed. The odds of another thirty seconds making the difference were astronomical.

Selina swore under her breath as she carefully unlatched the leads from the circuit board and wrapped them up, safely putting the whole contraption away before turning back to the keypad itself and closing the small access door she'd carefully pried open.

Tomorrow she decided, she'd come back tomorrow night and try again. May as well give it a few more goes before throwing in the towel and taking more...drastic steps. Maybe she could take a risk and extend the length of time she had the cameras looped next time too. A calculated risk, but probably worth it. Maybe she could coax her little code cracker to cycle numbers more quickly. Maybe...

A sharp click and the door somewhere on the opposite side of the room behind her opened without warning.

Selina inwardly groaned. Fantastic. Even a silent, stealthy escape was out of the picture given the fact that two hilariously stunned guards had just walked into the small anteroom that she was still crouched in. Hopefully she could at least still make it out in one piece.

"Hi there boys," she greeted cheerfully, turning fully to face them and smirking in frustration. It was an expression that belayed the pounding of her heart going on in her chest as her blood pressure skyrocketed. "You know, I have to apologize. Normally...I'm much better at this." Settling forward in her crouch to let one hand touch the floor lightly, Selina balanced her weight more evenly, waiting for their inevitable reaction once they got past the jaw-dropping shock stage. "So, anyways...guys...listen, I was just leaving...so..."

She wasn't sure if it was the appearance of an attractive, tightly clad woman before them or simply the sudden appearance of _anyone _in their supposedly secure location but they continued regarding her frozen in place, blocking the exit door and still curiously staring at her from across the room, one still casually holding a small cardboard box in both hands.

"Ooookay..." she began when the moment stretched into an uncomfortable length. The word seemed to trigger something judging by the sudden twitch of the big man on the left. His right knee flexed while his shoulders began turning...probably going for a gun under his jacket. The other man was trying to get rid of his parcel as quickly as possible before he too would be probably doing the same thing. "..._oh_...here we go!'

Selina propelled herself over the floor, keeping low to stay out of the two men's normal comfort zone and half slid, half skidded across the floor at them as fast as she could propel herself.

Planting her left hand to her side on the ground she spun as soon as she was in range, snapping her right leg out and contacting her target's left ankle seven inches off the ground, sweeping the man off his feet. He went down hard, trying to brace himself with a forearm, but hitting with a sharp thud on the hard tile floor, his breath expelled from his lungs in a gasp.

She was already moving, lithely moving up and towards the second guard as he finally started to bring his gun to bear. Selina was far too close for effective targeting by firearms, but she wasn't going to complain that _they _didn't seem to realize that yet. She'd take all the advantages she could get. She ducked his arm as he swung it around, dipping her head and shoulders gracefully as she flashed underneath it and around to his side.

She grabbed the hand with the weapon with both of hers as she passed, pulling it with her and hitting a small button on the inside of the grip. The magazine containing the pistols bullets fell free, clattering on the cold floor as it skidded away. With her remaining energy she snapped her left hand into the crook of his arm, causing it to bend at the elbow. With her right she laced her fingers against the trigger with his and pulled.

The flash from the pistol being discharged in an otherwise dimly lit room bathed everything in a sharp, golden light for a split second. A momentary diversion that Selina used to roll out of the two men's range, staying low as she came back up to face them, crouching with one hand still out on front of her balancing her evenly for the next flash of action.

The first man she'd hit was already back up and looking warily at her as he favored one of his legs. The second was equally alert, massaging his elbow after he'd unceremoniously tossed aside his now empty weapon.

Neither one looked especially happy at the moment.

She'd just been trying to disarm them. Their one giant advantage besides their numbers and size, assuming that they weren't trained fighters, had been their firearms. Those could turn things into a bad day _real_ quick. In a split second she'd been able to completely disable one and send the other one out of reach of its owner. It lay between her and them now, useless unless someone managed to get their hands on it.

The two men glanced at each other before they began circling her in opposite directions, trying to split her focus. And...well...they apparently knew something about how to defend themselves given their current stances.

Wonderful.

"So, I take it you guys don't have a problem hitting a woman then?" Selina quipped, her eyes flicking from one man to the other as they methodically moved. Neither answered, their expressions neutral and focused. "Ever heard of overkill? I mean the two of you against little ole..."

The man to her left, the one furthest from the still loaded weapon, darted forward toward her and slightly to the left. It was predictable, the one man trying to distract her and lure her away from their remaining weapon. Selina was expecting it.

She ignored the feint, spinning to her right and making for the Sig Sauer instead. The other guard was already heading for the handgun. Selina let him beat her.

Down on one knee and bent over, picking up the handgun his defenses were lowered momentarily. She came in low again, exploding off the floor from all fours and bringing a knee up into his chin as he was looking down.

The blow had about as much physical force as she could put behind something, using her entire weight and momentum to deliver the hit. It had its desired effect, snapping his head back and sending the gun flying from his grip and away into the corner.

Selina followed through with her momentum. Her knee, still planted firmly against his chest road him down to the ground hard, propelled by both their body weights. Rolling off him as soon as they came to rest she spun back around to her left to locate the remaining man.

He was on top of her before she had completed her transition. She felt the vise-like grip of one of his hands clamp down on her shoulder before she could see him, spinning her around. Instinctively her arms came up, just managing to deflect the first strike meant for her left cheek away. It left her forearm screaming from the force of the blow and Selina reeling slightly on her heels. She managed to smoothly duck the second punch, sliding backwards before he could follow up to gain room.

The guard didn't relent though, charging forward to make up the distance and attempting to grab her upper arm. She danced away and slithered out of his grasp, bringing her elbow into the side of his already tender right arm. The grunt he released at the impact let her know he'd felt it.

Still within easy reach of him she ducked down, trying to become less of a prime target for his fists. One wildly thrown punch managed to clip her shoulder as she moved, causing a shooting pain to go screaming down her side and dropping her to a knee.

It was only a glancing shot, but his strength mixed with her slender frame meant that she'd feel every blow, no matter how insignificant.

Selina was about to roll away when she felt him haul her up by the waist from behind, his weight and strength again acting to his advantage. Her feet left the ground for a split second before they dropped back down and found leverage again. Not having a lot of options and knowing her opponent wasn't overly tall she snapped her head back violently.

Her skull made solid contact with his cheekbone and nose, leaving them both reeling from the collision and seeing stars. It did allow Selina to finally get far enough away that she could turn to face him, taking a split second to visually check on the other man. Luckily he was still mostly unconscious, softly groaning off to one side.

Her gaze returned to her current obstacle quickly. A trickle of blood was visible at the corner of her opponent's mouth. He'd probably bit his tongue or cheek from the headbutt. Good, the jackass deserved it.

Selina took a moment to weigh her options during the lull. No matter what, she needed to beat a hasty escape. Time was of the essence. There was no telling how many more henchmen Falcone had in his employ and someone was eventually going to come to investigate the single gunshot that had occurred earlier.

In the end it meant one, simple thing. She needed to take out the slightly bleeding muscle head in front of her with more than a little sense of urgency.

Hopefully he was pissed off enough by now that he'd make a mistake.

She didn't wait for him to make his move this time, bolting for the exterior door. He, of course, moved to block her. It was Selina's turn to feint this time, instead of continuing for the exit she changed her course and jumped, kicking off the wall to gain extra elevation. Judging by the look on his face the guard had _not _been expecting that.

Her knee met his solar plexus, knocking the air from his lungs and driving him backwards into the opposite wall. He propelled himself off it directly at her, his eyes radiating malice. Good. Getting him emotional would help things. His first punch was for the fences, a wide, horribly telegraphed arc that she sidestepped easily. Things became a little more complicated after that once he started jabbing shots to her torso that left very little room to retaliate. She was using both arms to deflect the strikes, being driven back simply through the sheer power behind them.

Finally, her arms throbbing from turning aside one punch after the other, he got sloppy and threw one carelessly across his body and hers.

Mistake.

She latched on immediately, using its momentum to send him hurtling over her shoulder without ever letting go of his wrist. Once on the ground she launched herself back at him, pulling his arm across her torso as she sat on his chest, wrapping her right leg around his neck when he tried to sit back up. The left leg went over his shoulder, hooking over her right foot. Selina pulled back as hard as she could, leaning and yanking on her opponent's arm with all her might, desperately attempting to cut off the blood flow to his brain.

As expected, it worked. The guard managed one final surprised wave of his free arm before the choke had its desired effect and he flopped down between her legs unconscious

And that's when the door opened. Again. Selina hadn't even had time for the click of the door to register before she could already hear the deep voice of the man coming through from just beyond it.

"Len? Look I'm supposed to find you to..."

If she wasn't so tired and sore the look on his face would probably have been pretty comical. Here were two large, capable men mostly unconscious on the floor with a fairly seductively attired woman pretty much straddling one of their faces. If his arrival wasn't so damned ill timed then she'd undoubtedly be laughing.

Seriously, she couldn't make this crap up if she tried.

"Uhhh...hi," she began. Selina glanced down between her knees at the man's unconscious face beneath her, assuming him to be this Len guy before looking back at the newest addition to the room. "Yeah...umm...he's sorta unavailable at the moment. Sorry. It was the damndest thing. They're just _so _clumsy, ya know?" she chuckled lightly. "Anyways, I should...go..."

His expression left very little doubt as to just how amusing he was finding this. Crap.

* * *

><p>That was <em>not <em>how her evening was supposed to have gone. Not even close. It was supposed to have been quick and easy. She was supposed to have breezed in, gotten a good look at whatever there was to see, and gotten back out without a trace. Hell, nobody was even supposed to have known she'd ever been there. She was supposed to be sitting at home right now, curled up on the couch after a hot bath with a nice glass of...well pretty much anything containing alcohol.

Instead it was late and she was on some decrepit rooftop taking a breather from her trek back home and resting her bruised and beaten body. Hardly the glamorous life she liked to associate with herself.

The third guy had proven every bit as capable as the first and second, landing a couple of good, strong blows before she'd been able to dislocate his shoulder. It was over fast after that. A steel trashcan to the head tends to have that effect.

Still, all three had made their presence felt and she was definitely going to be feeling the effects of it in the morning.

A strobe lit the sky causing her to glance at the low hanging clouds. It was followed soon after by the familiar roll and crash of thunder and the first light patters of droplets falling against her exposed lips and suit.

Wonderful, on top of everything else now it was raining.

The night's disaster wasn't limited to failing and then being forced to engage several bodyguards either. In fact, that probably wasn't even the worst of it. No, the worst of it was that they now knew of her and would be improving the security even further in the immediate further. Add to that the fact that they undoubtedly possessed video of her and the altercation considering the looped cameras would have come back online sometime around the halfway mark of her battle. What a nice, neat disaster she'd managed to bring upon herself.

Dammit.

It also meant there would be only one option left available to her that could still enable her infiltration of Alberto's humble penthouse. Selina would have to get herself invited up. That meant...well...that meant getting close to him. It meant that Alberto Falcone was her next mark.

It also meant that any burgeoning...whatever it was...that was going on with Bruce Wayne was officially off the table.

Selina tried to deny the tightness she was experiencing in her chest was something other than a tender spot where she'd taken a blow. She knew she was kidding herself, but wasn't ready to admit to anything. That just wasn't...her. Apparently the pretty-boy billionaire had managed to get himself ever-so-subtly wedged under the armor that she perpetually had in place to protect herself.

During the last two-plus years Selina thought it had become damn near unbreakable. Apparently not.

"Aw, fuck," she muttered, burying her face in her hands.

As if in response to her further darkening mood, the rain began falling with an even heavier intensity.

* * *

><p>Carl Engel shifted in his seat for what felt like the fortieth time in the last four hours. Why the force couldn't splurge for leather he'd never understand.<p>

He _hated _stakeouts with a passion. Mind numbing boredom for perhaps a single glimpse of something vaguely resembling actionable information was not what he'd imagined when he'd joined the force all those years ago. It was a part of the job most cops abhorred, his partner included. Too bad it was also very necessary.

It was still raining too, the large, inconsistent drops playing across the windshield in front of them. It had been coming down for the past day and a half now and was expected to continue into the evening. The rain wasn't doing them any favors in their surveillance either. Yet another factor that frustrated Carl.

"You see the game last night?" his partner, Chris Fletcher asked, setting the worn pair of binoculars back on the dash in front of him.

"No," Engel said, "I _got _to visit the in-laws instead."

"Double ouch, man. You missed a hell of a game too. That new placekicker, Hooper...he put one through with twenty seconds left from like fifty yards out to win it." He shook his head, still picturing it. "Awesome."

"Shut up, Fletcher."

"I tell you I won three hundred on that game? Man, I tell you, I really thought I was going to be eating it before that last drive."

"Dude, don't make me report you for gambling. I said shut it."

Chris smiled, the wide space between his front two tooth very evident, even in the failing light. "Aww, poor guy. Fine, what do you want to talk about then?"

"Just...anything else is fine."

They'd been sitting in their car near the corner of Fifth Avenue and Second Street for the better part of the afternoon and into the early evening and it was beginning to look like their replacements were going to be running late. Again.

Commissioner Gordon and Lieutenant Bullock had stepped up patrols and surveillance in Riley's territory following the disastrous assault on the old restaurant four days prior. Knowing Riley's penchant for violence and retaliation it certainly seemed warranted. Something was bound to come up following Ian Riley's death and in this town it'd inevitably mean plenty of death and destruction. Engel couldn't argue with the logic behind the extra manpower, but he also didn't like missing his son's ballgame. Again.

Tim was supposed to pitch tonight too. Dammit.

He figured his absence also meant Sophie would be pissed. Carl's wife had never gotten used to the life of being a policeman's spouse. Weird hours and near constant danger did not make for a smooth married life, especially if one of the two wasn't in it wholeheartedly. Still, it was what his family did. Dating back to his great grandfather pretty much every Engel male, and several of the females, were civil servants. Of Carl's three brothers, one was a fellow cop and another was with the city fire department. Only Mike, the eldest had foregone tradition and elected to become a journalist for GCN. It was a fact that Sophie enjoyed reminding him of.

The pair of MCU detectives had been assigned some seedy pawn shop that doubled as a front for two of Sean's subordinates. Engel and Fletcher were tasked to watch out for anyone or anything of importance within its vicinity. They had a nice little binder full of snapshots sitting between them to compare anyone walking into the building against as well as a written description of this new _Riddler_ guy the Commissioner had just started warning them about.

They'd gotten to open the binder a grand total of three times in the past four hours. It really was depressing.

Engel took another sip of his cold coffee and grimaced. Again.

Fletcher groaned and stretched. "Why couldn't we have gotten Danny's position? At least that close to the fashion district you'd get to see some good looking girls once in awhile."

"Is that all you think with? You balls and your wallet?"

His partner grinned. "Priorities, my man. Gotta keep an eye on what's important. I..." His eyes narrowed in concentration as he trailed off, staring out the rain streaked windshield and off down the street. "Hey-hey...look at what we've got here."

Carl was already watching the lone figure shamble down the sidewalk towards the entrance of the building. "Really? Him? The guy looks homeless."

Fletcher just shrugged and picked the binoculars back up. "You get a good look at his face?" he asked.

"You're the one with the field glasses."

The figure continued slowly on past the glass doors of their target building, continuing towards their car. Fletcher dropped the binoculars back down, grumbling. "Surprise, surprise, another false alarm," he finally mumbled to himself.

Engel just closed his eyes and massaged his forehead, praying for the arrival of their replacements.

A loud smack behind them spun both men around in their seats, Engel's fingers instinctively brushing against the metal grip of his Beretta in its shoulder holster. All that was there was a piece of paper on the rear window and a fleeting glimpse of the small bum walking away clad in an old brownish-green trench coat and green beanie.

The two men just sat there, turned in their seats and staring at the rear window in confusion, watching the dirty, diminutive figure walk away down the sidewalk and turn the corner on to Second Street. Slowly they turned back to look at each other.

Fletcher simply shrugged, confused.

As one, they both turned back curiously to take a second look at the simple piece of lined notebook paper that had been stuck to the car's rear window and the writing upon it.

_Question: What happens when an electrical circuit connecting a battery and four pounds of plastic explosive is closed?_

Seconds ticked by as the two remained motionless. The sudden appearance of the note and illegibility of the scribble on it gradually working its way through their synapses before the content of the question could finally register.

Chief among them the words _plastic explosive._

Engel reacted first, his eyes widening. He reread the note again, and then a third time. There wasn't much to miss or misinterpret in the single sentence. Even someone with little more than a high school education could clearly recognize the threat.

The detective turned back in his seat, fighting down the wave of tension in his gut as he carefully scanned the street for...something, all the while reaching for the car's radio.

The click of the door handle on the passenger's side spun him to his right to find Chris opening the car door in a state of semi-panic. "Fuck this," he vaguely heard his partner mutter before he was lunging across the gear shift trying to grab the other man's belt from behind to keep him where he was.

"Jesus, Fletcher! Stay in the goddamned..."

Neither man could have hoped to notice the small copper slivers of exposed wiring barely visible in the hinges of the car's doors. Once opened, the passenger door brought the two separate strands inexorably closer together. At about the halfway point, just about when Detective Chris Fletcher was beginning to heed his partner's shouted advice the two wires came into contact with one another.

The resulting explosion violently rocked most of the surrounding block and the far side of the nearby intersection, gouging the pavement, shattering glass and sending debris careening in every direction. One unfortunate soul walking along the sidewalk nearby was killed instantly, practically decapitated by jagged pieces of the shredded police vehicle. Twenty other civilians were also injured in the blast. Luckily, most suffered little more than cuts and bruises from the shrapnel or injuries to their ears caused by the sudden pressure change, but thankfully little else.

The two Gotham City Police Detectives, however, were little more than burnt pieces and bits of charred clothing by the time the recovery process was launched, completely beyond recognition.

* * *

><p><em>AN: You really didn't think Bruce and Selina would actually have a conventional relationship, right? I mean...where's the fun in that? _

_Let me know if you liked seeing Selina bring the pain.  
><em>


	16. Chapter 16

_Alright. I actually managed to update in under a week. Go me.  
><em>

_Let's see those reviews and make a guy happy. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets us authors know you care. I wasn't kidding when I said that update frequency is directly proportional to the amount of reviews.  
><em>

_First and foremost, I want to take the time to thank all of those who do take the time and energy to leave a know who you are and each and every one of you guys rule. Keep it up._

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>Usually the feeling of calm and cleanliness that pervaded the city following a storm invigorated Bruce. It was almost as if the rain managed to sweep clean and wash away some of the filth and nastiness of Gotham, as though it was a cleansing bath. Like it managed to purge it of some of its decay...if only a little. This time, was different. There was too much happening in Gotham outside of his control, outside of his ability to see the larger overall picture. It left Bruce unsettled and more than a little on-edge.<p>

He dropped down to the peak of the adjacent rooftop, sliding slightly when his boot slipped on the steep slope. Luckily none of the hard shingles loosened or came free. Darkness and stealth were still his two greatest allies.

It wasn't one if the nicest residential neighborhoods in the city, but it was respectable. A community made up of hard workers and their families that managed to keep things relatively clean and wholesome, beating back most of the violent crime through sheer force of will.

It probably didn't hurt having the police commissioner living a couple of houses down though. Only the craziest of criminals would try and operate in close proximity to the head of Gotham's police force.

Bruce slid down the remainder of the roof, snagging the rain gutter at the bottom and easily swinging out and down to the wooden deck that reached up to the second floor of the building allowing his legs to absorb the shock. A slight creak from one of the aging timbers was all the noise that he made, almost lost even in the relatively quiet neighborhood. Creeping forward in the darkness he climbed up to perch on one of the handrails overlooking the Gordon residence's familiar back door.

He could make out voices from inside. Just idle conversation probably, given the muted tones and the occasional clink of silverware and running water. The children were likely asleep by this time of night. Thankfully the adults hadn't decided to call it a night early.

Bruce settled in to wait for his opportunity, carefully scanning the surrounding residences for any sign of life. Better not to have some nosy neighbor spot him and call the police if it could be helped.

Bruce knew Gordon's tendencies. He liked coming out back here for fresh air and to think. Once upon a time it had been to enjoy a cigarette. The smoking habit went. His outdoor breaks didn't. It was how Bruce had often arranged spontaneous meetings with him in the past. If he didn't happen to come outside in the next hour or so...well, he could probably figure some way to draw the Commissioner outside anyway.

Ten minutes later the faded door opened without prompting, followed immediately by the creak of the worn screen door, exposing the Commissioner's silhouette to the dim lighting of the back alley.

The last couple of weeks couldn't have been easy on the man and his face displayed the stress he was undoubtedly feeling. Gotham City didn't treat those trying to do good in the world particularly well. You had to be strong to stand up and take it and Jim Gordon was one of the strongest people Bruce knew. Still, four dead cops in just over a week couldn't be easy to take. Not when you were the man in charge. Not when you had to stare their family members in the eye.

Gordon just stood there for a second, his hands in his pants pockets scanning the alley quietly, before taking a deep breath and loudly sighing, stepping over to lean on the wood railing of his small porch.

"Tough night?" Bruce asked, breaking the relative silence.

Gordon visibly jumped, his eyes widening and his right hand instinctively moving toward his waistband where his service weapon would normally be located before his brain recognized the familiar, deep voice and stilled his fingers.

He wasn't actually sporting his handgun anyways.

"I still hate it when you do that you know?" he said, not looking up. Instead, he resumed leaning on the weathered wooden railing, resting on his forearms as he absently twisted his wedding band on his finger and stared off down the alley that ran perpendicular to the back of his home.

"Thanks for the package by the way. It was...enlightening."

Bruce stayed quiet, perched precariously on his own wooden railing half a floor above his friend, deep in shadow. The Commissioner would continue when he was ready. Bruce wasn't kept waiting long.

"Thought I might be seeing you soon. Engel and Fletcher were killed last night. An explosion...a big one. Death was instant."

"I heard."

"Carl was a good man," Gordon said, shaking his head as he stared off into space. "He...he had a wife and kid." A pause. "Barely even knew Fletcher. He'd only been with Major Crimes for a few months, but the others spoke highly enough of him." The Commissioner finally looked back up to the railing where Bruce sat. "You think it's this Nigma?"

Bruce nodded slightly. "It fits."

"So what then? Retribution for Ian Riley?"

"On the outside it looks like that." He paused, unsure how much of his current theory to divulge. "There might be something else though. I'm working on it."

"Something else?" Gordon's eyebrows rose. The possibility that there might be something more sinister going on then simply his officers being murdered was probably new information. Their murders alone would normally be enough for any cop's blood to be boiling. That there might be something even greater was bound to raise tensions.

Bruce hadn't elaborated though and didn't particularly want to tip his hand at the moment. Gordon would want to help. He always would. It was just something that was in his character. Given that they were his men he probably had a right to it too. It was also something that Bruce would have normally been fine with accepting under normal circumstances. If not for the fact that he'd be risking his own family by helping a wanted fugitive he'd let him now too. Instead Bruce bit his tongue.

"I'll let you know when it's something concrete," he replied cryptically.

Gordon frowned, not liking the non-answer as expected. Thankfully he knew better than to press the issue with him though. By now the Batman had proven to be plenty stubborn. "But, you expect him to come after more cops?" he asked instead.

"Riley won't be satisfied with just the two."

"Christ," Gordon murmured.

"Did you check out Quinzel?"

The sudden change in topic threw him for a second, but eventually Gordon nodded. "Unofficially. Not much we can do but keep an eye on her. No evidence of any wrongdoing and no reason to bring her in for questioning. The woman is just the right amount of clean," he said, shrugging powerlessly. "No felonies or misdemeanors...just the usual speeding and parking tickets and those police reports about her ex-boyfriend. You really think she might be capable of this?"

"You saw the tapes. Are you sure you want to take that chance?"

"You have a point," The Commissioner said, adjusting his glasses as he considered something. Judging by the worry lines etched on his face it wasn't something he particularly enjoyed either. "Have you considered...I mean, have you thought about...talking to her yourself? You know, since we can't."

Having to suggest that course of action couldn't have been easy for Gordon. He might consider the Batman a friend and ally, but it didn't mean he always approved of his methods. "Intimidating her might be counterproductive," Bruce replied. "It might do more harm than good."

Gordon just nodded, turning back to face the alley as he mulled over what Bruce had said. "So, where do we go from here then?" he finally asked.

That really was the million dollar question. One even Bruce had no definitive answer for. Surveillance on the doctor was in place at her home and with his access to Arkham's networks he had visual, but no audio capabilities at her work. It was about the best that could be expected. Past that, there was nothing much to do but stay vigilant.

"We keep an eye on her for now," he finally said. "Until we know more."

"Or until it's too late." Gordon mused quietly.

Bruce chose to pull his disappearing act rather than answer the statement, slipping away around the side of the building before engaging the high speed winch and zipping away. Gordon's response gave him pause though once he was a couple blocks away to the northeast.

_Until it's too late._

Too late to prevent what though? Bruce still felt fairly secure that Arkham was safe enough. Despite knowing the ins and outs of its systems there were simply too many layers to its security now to beat for a single person the likes of Doctor Quinzel to break anyone out. You'd almost assuredly have to be certifiable just to contemplate it. And if it _was _her committing these Joker themed killings then what was her endgame? Threaten the city into releasing him? The crimes _were_growing more violent. Perhaps escalating as she grew more comfortable?

From what he knew of the madman though, it was a good bet the Joker was coordinating things from behind bars, pulling the strings and pointing her in the desired direction. It was exactly the thing he'd take a lot of enjoyment out of. Which begged the question, what did he hope to gain from it?

Besides the requisite chaos and fear, that is. Most any inmate wanted their freedom, which left him back at Arkham being damn near impregnable.

Bruce needed audio in the asylum. It was that simple. He needed to be able to hear whatever it was that they were planning during their "therapy" sessions. Those meetings were the only time when the two of them could scheme in relative secrecy so it was obviously also the most valuable time for intelligence gathering.

Of course that was also easier said than done.

* * *

><p>The hostess seated Bruce in a prominent location, near the corner of the restaurant that featured some of the best views the place had to offer. If he hadn't been used to people making a scene whenever he showed up somewhere he'd probably have been entertained by the stuttering and the mad scramble put on by her and the manager when he'd walked through the door. A place like this probably wasn't well practiced in what to do when people like <em>the <em>Bruce Wayne suddenly showed up for dinner. He'd smiled along and made one or two absent minded comments while they scurried around, finishing things off by blatantly slipping the furiously blushing and admittedly attached hostess his personal number before she left.

Of course, he never had any intention of actually returning any calls she might make. He never did.

Bruce had briefly entertained the idea of inviting Selina out tonight, but ultimately decided against it. She'd made it abundantly clear that she wasn't looking to be the next woman to grace the covers of the gossip magazines on Bruce Wayne's arm. Despite his desire to see her again and actually make it completely through a date he'd be patient and do things right. So, he'd wait and invite her to do something a little more...private...again.

There was no wiping the knowing grin off Alfred's face when Bruce had brought the idea of another date up. Where the man got the knack of being right all the time he didn't know, but it sure provided a lot of those smug smiles and winks that the man seemed to enjoy using in front of him as if saying, "I told you so."

He'd realized too late that he and Selina had never exchanged phone numbers or other means of contact after the dinner at his penthouse had gotten cut short. He knew where she lived and she knew where he lived and, well...that wouldn't do. Of course, the number for Wayne Manor was listed, but he'd had Alfred hunt down her room number from her hotel's front desk anyway. He'd even left her a message a day or two ago about seeing each other again. Just on a whim. It hadn't crossed his mind yet to be curious why she hadn't returned the call. She'd obviously enjoyed his company and hinted that she'd like to see him again.

No, she'd call back. Of that he was sure.

And so, he went out to dinner alone instead, hoping that wouldn't send too many tongues wagging in tomorrow's papers. It was a sad commentary on his life when a night out alone might raise more eyebrows than a night out with the entire Gotham Knights cheerleader squad.

The days were growing shorter now and the nights lasting longer. The biting cold that drifted in off the ocean would start arriving soon, bringing with it winter coats and sweaters as fall gradually changed into winter.

It also meant that it wouldn't be long before the first anniversary of Rachel's death arrived. In her honor he'd had Alfred drop him off at one of her favorite restaurants tonight, a quaint little Italian place with a cozy atmosphere that overlooked the Atlantic. It wasn't nearly the most exclusive restaurant in town, nor the most famous. Merely a place with great food, a decent view, and prices that weren't completely exorbitant. All in all Bruce decided it was all very...Rachel.

That thought made him smile.

It was Alfred that had convinced him to go out on the town. Too much time focusing on one personality and neglecting the other he'd argued. Again, he always had that knack for being right. After all, people would talk if Bruce Wayne strangely disappeared from the public eye for too long. Everyone always wanted news on the world's favorite handsome billionaire playboy apparently.

There weren't any photographers waiting outside for him when he'd arrived, not at a place like this. Still, someone was bound to have a camera phone or something and snap an image or video that would make it into tomorrow's news. Of that he was sure. It was just the way it always seemed to work.

So, he made sure to keep the arrogant, self assured grin that he'd perfected so well over the years etched on his face as much as possible. It was an expression that faltered miserably soon after the waitress had taken his order.

Alberto Falcone, the son of one of the greatest scourges in Gotham's history, entered the restaurant quietly enough.

Unlike his father Alberto cut a fairly dashing figure. Rather than the rumpled and scowling appearance of Carmine he was tall and immaculately styled. He looked every bit the handsome young up and coming businessman that he was, confident and dashing. Bruce had been keeping an eye on the man, loathe to trust his promises given the background he came from. As much as he might hope that he was wrong he still had the feeling that the apple might not fall far from the tree.

It was said to hope for the best, but plan for the worst. Bruce was a firm believer in the proverb. It was also one that Gotham tended to prove necessary.

Falcone wasn't the problem though. He wasn't what almost made Bruce forget himself and allow his jaw to drop. No, the trouble was that Falcone didn't enter the restaurant alone.

Selina Kyle had her arm looped through his as he held the door open for her, ushering her inside smoothly as he greeted the hostess. She smiled over her shoulder at him as he helped her remove her jacket, saying something that made him laugh lightly in response. All in all she looked remarkably...happy.

That fact probably would have elicited more of a response from Bruce if his mind wasn't still trying to catch up to what his eyes were processing.

Her apparently happy arrival at Falcone's side had pretty much the exact opposite effect on Bruce. Other than watching the unexpected scene for a bit longer than would probably have been expected he didn't let it show on his face though. Thankfully nobody would be able to see his balled up fists underneath the lip of the table.

Well, the mystery of why she hadn't returned his call was apparently solved.

* * *

><p>Selina took a deep breath and allowed Alberto to open the door for her and take her hand to guide her out of the car. Apparently he was taking her to some out of the way Italian place that his father had used to love back before he'd found his way behind bars. It appeared nice enough. Nothing too gaudy and over the top for a first date. Apparently the man wasn't going to try to charm her dress off through obscene displays of wealth.<p>

She released the breath and plastered a small smile on her face. At least she might be able to enjoy some good food while she was suffering through this little get together.

He wasn't terrible. Selina had to continuously remind herself of that fact. Next to Brandon Thorne and some of her other past marks the man was a definite improvement. At least he actually looked like someone that she should be on the arm of. He was, at times, somewhat charming and handsome enough that he'd attract a fair number of women even without the money and notoriety. Alberto could even manage to carry a halfway decent conversation too. Occasionally.

Of course, there was also the ego, arrogance and rather severe case of self involvement he'd displayed already. It was more than just a strong confidence and bit of vanity from what she'd been able to see. Apparently he thought he owned the world and someone had simply forgotten to inform the masses. It was a trait that grated on her given her background.

It was also a stark contrast to Bruce's rather down to earth outlook on his family's wealth and position.

She looped her arm through his and let him lead her up the stairs to the large wooden door to the restaurant. Unknown to anyone who saw her, her stomach was twisting into ever tighter knots. It had been ever since she'd seemingly randomly managed to run into him outside his lawyer's downtown office. It hadn't taken much after that to entice him into asking her out.

Selina dug the nails into the palm of her free hand as she clenched her fist.

It wasn't usually this hard. At least it hadn't been in a long time. She wasn't about to face the truth about what had changed in her life recently. Not when she had a job to do. She'd just beat it back down like she did everything else, safely contained and tucked away so that she could do what needed to be done.

Alberto made some insipid remark that he no doubt thought was clever to the hostess who smiled and laughed politely. Selina echoed her, smiling sweetly at her date when he moved to take her coat when all she wanted to do was roll her eyes. As he moved around behind her it afforded a better view of the small eatery. What she saw made her eyes widen involuntarily, her heart skipping a beat before plummeting violently.

Bruce. Shit.

Had her luck just completely disappeared since she came to this damn town? Dried up and evaporated along with the good fortunes of the rest of this city? Seriously, what were the odds of seeing him on her first night out with her new mark? It was like someone was playing an especially sick joke on her. The fates must be having quite the chuckle.

She couldn't handle this, not right now. Ten minutes in and she already needed some air. What if he confronted her? How was she supposed to explain that? Selina took yet another deep breath. Oh god, this had disaster written all over it.

"Alberto?" She made sure to use her best sly smile. The one she knew worked on any red-blooded man. "If you don't mind, I need to freshen up for a sec. Just be a minute, okay?"

"Yeah, no problem," he said, smiling easily back down at her. "Take your time. Can I order you a drink or something in the meantime?"

"Sure," Selina replied, already hustling away towards the far corner of the building, near the kitchen's entrance. She paused briefly to look back. "Wine. Red. And...uh...thanks."

* * *

><p>The short hallway led only to the restaurant's restrooms. From there it was fairly simple to deduce which door she would have used. It probably wasn't exceptionally appropriate to follow her into the women's bathroom, but it was something that most would easily attribute to his affluent upbringing and notorious reputation so he pushed through the swinging door with little hesitation.<p>

"Hi Bruce," Selina said, leaning heavily on the marble counter top with her back to him, watching his reflection in the mirror as he entered. Her voice conveyed little happiness to see him. If anything, she sounded stressed and tired. "I think you're lost."

"No, not lost," he replied. "Just confused." Bruce crossed his arms over his chest defensively and took up station just inside the doorway.

She sighed and turned to face him, crossing her arms to match his stance and leaning back against the granite. "Listen, I know you've got questions, but can we not do this? At least not right now. I've..."

"Got a date. I know. Sorry, wouldn't want to interrupt." He tried to keep the derisiveness out of his voice, but he was probably failing. Miserably.

"Okay, I deserve that." She ran her hand through her hair agitatedly and glanced at the cold tile floor. "Christ, this wasn't supposed to go this way, okay?" she said. "I hate that we ran into you here, but you weren't...this wasn't how I wanted you to find out, alright? I'm sorry."

"And how exactly _were_ you planning on breaking the news?" he said, his voice still mostly even and calm. "Cause you know, a simple phone call would have been nice."

"Alright, look," Selina sighed and ran her hand through her hair again. "Am I sorry? Yes. Do I really need to hear your shit right now, Bruce? No. I've got enough crap to deal with right now without adding your pile to the top of it."

"That may be," Bruce responded, taking a step forward and letting his arms drop to his sides, "but I'd still like an explanation." He set his jaw. "I think I deserve that."

Her eyes lit up, radiating a brilliant fire when he'd finished uttering his demand and she took an aggressive step towards him. "Deserve? Listen rich boy, I don't owe you _anything_. One time. We went out one time. That's it. That doesn't make me beholden to you. I'm not _your _girl."

Bruce tried to beat a slight retreat to ease the tension, breaking her molten gaze to stroll past her towards the sinks. "I never said you were. Dammit, that's not what this is about," he sighed, resting his hands on the dark stone countertop and staring at his reflection in the mirror. It was a partial lie, but he wasn't ready to admit that more than his pride was hurt and that there was...more to it than that. Things were already complicated enough without bringing feelings into play, even if they already were. "I'm not some jealous ex-boyfriend or something, okay? Listen...I...I just don't think he's someone you should trust."

"And that means you are?" she retorted, her eyebrow raising as punctuation when their eyes met in the reflection of the mirror. When he didn't answer she spun back away from him towards the exit, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. For a second he thought she was going to leave when she turned quickly back around. "Anyways, who says I do trust him? I don't just go around throwing something like that away left and right, you know?"

"That's not what I meant..." Bruce started.

"Then what _did _you mean, Bruce? Cause it sure as hell feels like I'm getting the third degree here for being seen with another man. You're coming across as awfully possessive."

He sighed. She was right, he was acting like some spoiled snob who didn't get his way. Apparently she just hadn't enjoyed their time together as much as he had. Still, it didn't mean he didn't have at least one valid point. "Okay," Bruce said.

"Okay?"

"Yeah...okay." Bruce paused as an unknown emotion flashed across her face for an instant. Something resembling pain...and...sorrow. "But here, take this," he said, pulling out a business card and pen from inside his coat. He quickly went about scribbling his personal number on the backside and handed it to her. "I just...I'd just feel better knowing you have it. If you need help...just...please use it. I'll be there if you need anything."

Selina just stared at the card for a moment and the digits he'd hastily inscribed on it before looking back up at him and smiling sadly. "I was right, wasn't I? You actually are one of the decent ones.?"

"What?"

"It's nothing," she said, waving it off, but still looking at the small piece of paper in her fingers. "Bad timing and bad luck is all." Selina chuckled mirthlessly. "Story of my life."

"Selina..." Bruce waited until her eyes rose to meet his. "I'm serious, okay?" He pointed to the small card in her palm. "I know you're a big girl and that you may not even want the help, but please...don't hesitate to use that if you need to. I just...just stay safe." He watched a myriad of emotions flash over her face again as she looked anywhere but at his face. Several things he wanted to say came to mind, only to be quashed back down by the part of him that always seemed to stay rational. She'd made her choice.

Bruce turned to go.

The voice that made him pause was tiny, barely whispered. "Bruce..." Selina said. He turned back to look at her, only to find her already closer to him and moving closer. In one smooth motion she wrapped her right arm around the back of his neck, leaned up, and kissed him. Hard.

It took a lot to startle Bruce Wayne, much less make his mind go utterly blank. He was a man that Alfred often accused jokingly of thinking too much. One of those people who almost always had a dozen things furiously running through his brain at any one time. At the moment, all that running had come to a decidedly grinding halt.

His lips reacted to hers almost instantly. It was natural, a reaction that belied the still seemingly frozen body they were attached to. What seemed to be eons passed, though in reality it probably spanned merely seconds, before his hands acted of their own accord. One moving up gently to cup her cheek as the other brushed against her lower back, pulling her in closer. Despite the argument, despite the complications and danger in his life, despite the situation and who he was in secret and in public he just couldn't help but want...this. Bruce deepened the kiss, feeling her react accordingly against him as her arm tightened behind his neck.

She felt good against him. Natural. The way she angled her head opposite his to kiss him. The way her fingers lightly danced through his hair. The way his every nerve seemed to be alive and soaking in every sensation as she tried to deepen the kiss even further.

Bruce moved his one hand down from her face and took her hand in his where it rested on his arm, weaving his fingers between hers.

For some reason, that single, simple action seemed to do something to bring Selina snapping back to reality. She broke the kiss, lightly pushing against his chest and taking a quarter step back out of his embrace. She stayed close though, leaving just her forehead still in contact with him as she rested it lightly on his shoulder. Bruce could feel her breathing heavily and slightly raggedly before she finally let out a loud, dejected sigh and pushed away from him.

Soft, sad green eyes met his as they both simply watched each other. It wasn't exactly the happy twinkle he was used to. In the end it told Bruce all he needed to know.

Nothing had changed.

"I shouldn't have done that," she finally mumbled, beginning to slowly pace in the small space. Bruce just stood there, still confused by the entire exchange and watched. She stopped just as suddenly as she'd begun, looking apologetically at Bruce who was still staring at her. "Bruce..."

Someone chose that moment to try and open the bathroom door. An action that they only partially succeeded at when Selina grabbed it and venomously hissed, "Occupied!" to the startled woman, slamming it back into place. She turned back to Bruce before deciding something on the ceiling was awfully interesting. "Goddammit," she muttered. "I'm sorry, Bruce, but I...I can't. Not right now."

"You kissed me," he pointed out.

"I know. God...I...I know. And I'm sorry." She looked down from the ceiling, finally meeting his eyes again. "I am so, _so _sorry, Bruce. I just...I can't explain right now. I'm sorry. I...I have to...go."

With that she walked out of the restroom, leaving a still very confused Bruce Wayne in her wake.

What the hell had she been talking about? 'Not right now'? 'Can't explain'? What exactly was Selina Kyle into and why did it mean that she had to choose Alberto Falcone over him?

The more he got to know her, the more mysterious and convoluted her story seemed to become. He was really beginning to regret the fact that he still didn't have anything that would convince Alfred to let him run a background search on her.

"Ummm...excuse me?"

Bruce's eyes refocused at the sudden interruption on the small, older woman at the door with her arms crossed who was currently sending him a scathing glare. The facade slipped back into place easily, an arrogant, cockeyed grin firmly in place. "Can I help you?"

"This is the _women's _bathroom," she spat.

"You sure?" Bruce asked nonchalantly.

Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say judging by the reddening of her face and pursing of her lips.

* * *

><p>"You alright? I thought we were going to have to send out a search party," Alberto jokingly remarked upon Selina's arrival at their table. "Happy to see you didn't decide to skip out on me."<p>

Selina once again shrugged on the persona she'd gotten so used to wearing around young, wealthy bachelors and smiled coyly at him. "Oh Alberto, you're not getting rid of me that easily."

He smiled lecherously at her and leaned forward across the table. "And I'm very glad to hear that," he said. Thankfully, before she was forced to respond - or dry heave a little in her mouth - his eyes were drawn over her shoulder, his features twisting slightly in confusion and curiosity. "Isn't that Bruce Wayne?"

Selina didn't need to turn, she already knew what he was looking at, but she did anyway. For appearances. "Yeah," she nodded, "that's him. I bumped into him when I was coming out of the restroom."

Alberto's eyes widened and refocused back on her. "Do you...know him?"

Selina shrugged. Not as much as she'd probably like to, but unfortunately that wasn't likely to change now. Instead she merely answered, "I've run into him once or twice." She watched Bruce hand the manager something, probably an exorbitant amount of money in payment for his untouched meal given the way the man's eyes lit up. He didn't look happy though and seemed to be making a point of not looking over in her and Falcone's direction.

It really was depressing that little things like luck and her so-called life couldn't get their shit sorted out and align for once, but this was a debt that she needed to pay. She owed her friend this much and more. It was as simple as that. Of course, shutting away her own feelings and desires never got any easier, but she'd endure. Maybe once she was finally done...

Yes, done. It had been so long since she'd chosen to take this path that it was almost hard to picture, but...maybe then. There was always hope anyway.

Falcone wasn't paying attention to Selina again, watching the departing back of Gotham's favorite son instead over her shoulder. Much like she was, turned around partially in her chair, only for vastly different reasons.

"I've really wanted to meet him," Falcone said suddenly, talking to Selina, but mainly for his own benefit. "I'm sure I could get some great contacts in Gotham from him. He knows everybody, all the players. Maybe I could even manage to strike up a relationship with Wayne Enterprises. That'd be worth millions in profit, I'm sure." His dark eyes flicked back to her. "Think you might be able to introduce us sometime?"

She rolled her eyes while she still faced away from him. Yeah, because that was exactly what she wanted to do. Introduce her mark to the man she was just kissing feverishly in the woman's bathroom of a small Italian restaurant. That would end well.

Selina turned back to him though gritting her teeth beneath her upwardly curved lips. "I'd be happy to, Alberto."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Oh, hi there angst!  
><em>


	17. Chapter 17

_So, right after I managed to update in under a week I encountered a bit of writers block otherwise known as Batman: Arkham Asylum on XBox 360. Highly recommend it and must now let you all know that updates may...slow...when Arkham City comes out in October. Of course, I'll try my best, but consider yourself warned.  
><em>

_Please leave a review folks. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets us authors know you care. I wasn't kidding when I said that update frequency is directly proportional to the amount of reviews.  
><em>

_First and foremost, I want to take the time to thank all of those who do take the time and energy to leave a review. You know who you are and each and every one of you guys rule. Keep it up._

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth Park, forty one and single, lived alone in the lower east side of Gotham along Rinkley Avenue, less than two blocks from Rootsville Park. She lived a relatively quiet, unremarkable life, making her living as a State Safety Inspector and spending her free time enjoying the National Forest thirty minutes inland of Gotham a great deal with her two beloved dogs. No prior arrests or blemishes on her record past a parking ticket and an infraction for an illegal right hand turn seven months previous.<p>

Bruce crouched to look more closely at the woman's face.

Why then had she become the next victim of what the newspapers had dubbed the _Kissing Killer_?

He gently swept aside a few wisps of her hair that had fallen over her eyes. Her lips were dark green, almost black, just like the others. She lay at the foot of her couch on her stomach, her head turned to the right and staring emptily off into space. The look was peaceful though. If not for the open eyes and awkwardly positioned body she'd probably look asleep.

A quick swab with a cotton applicator and he'd have a sample of the toxin from her discolored lips to test. It was a near certainty what killed her, but it paid to be thorough. Bruce stood back up, still looking down at her.

The rest of the apartment looked in order. Nothing out of place or broken that he could see that would hint at a robbery or anything other than a random act of violence. Although there always seemed to be a fairly noticeable lack of violence in these murders. Like the previous two crime scenes, there weren't even signs of forced entry. So, the killer wasn't an especially physical person. Nor were they someone that necessarily enjoy it. They didn't revel in the act. Merely got in, got it done, and didn't linger. So, what then? Trying to send a message? And if so...what?

Now that there was a third murder scene and a fourth victim some patterns could start to be inferred. Other than Herbert Wallace's wife the victims were all public servants. There had been no connection between Vargas and Wallace that Alfred could discover, but maybe now that there was a third victim a link could be found.

It was something, Bruce supposed.

Could this be some kind of cover-up or conspiracy perhaps? Of course, there was still the chance that these were random crimes, but Bruce was thinking that less and less likely all the time.

He'd already slipped two strands of red hair into his belt as well. Like the toxin, he was sure they'd match those he'd found before, but he might as well compare them to be sure. He crossed the room again, intending to do one final sweep before leaving. The police and investigators would arrive soon and he needed to be elsewhere when they did.

For once he'd managed to be first on the scene. The computers in the cave had intercepted and subtly delayed the neighbor's frantic emergency call for five minutes before it finally made it down the chain to the first responders. The investigators would be even further delayed. He'd been on-scene for five and a half minutes now. Given their response times the first local black and white would probably be on the scene any minute, the detectives and investigators close behind.

Bruce stared again at the carefully typed note resting on the victim's dinner table, partially stuffed under and weighted down by the small floral centerpiece. It wasn't much, but it was from the killer. No demands or manifesto or threats, just a quote and a declaration.

_If a man walks in the woods for love of them half of each day, he is in danger of being regarded as a loafer. But if he spends his days as a speculator, shearing off those woods and making the earth bald before her time, he is deemed an industrious and enterprising citizen. - Thoreau_

_Society's priorities have been misplaced. My moral imperative insists that action be taken. _

Neatly signed at the bottom with a flourish was the name, _Ivy. _

The note was new. Nothing like it had been discovered at the other murders. Whether it was some strange philosophy or the killer feeling the need to justify their actions it provided them with...something. A clue into their mind. An idea that might help reveal a pattern.

He'd already taken a picture of the note. It was the first thing he'd done upon entering the apartment. He'd have to wait until the GCPD finished up their own investigation and filed their report before he could find out if any fingerprints had been left behind.

He doubted it though.

Ivy was likely not a real name. Given the care she'd gone to in committing these acts she obviously wasn't that stupid. Something for him and the police to run around chasing or perhaps simply a name the killer had given herself. Something the media would eagerly grab hold of if they ever found out about it.

In Gotham it seemed like _they _always had a name for themselves...the crazies and criminals. Something to make themselves appear larger, more frightening. Hell, he even did it himself.

Apparently the likelihood of the murderer actually being a murderess was also becoming more probable. Again, that was assuming _Ivy _wasn't just being used as a tool for distraction, but Bruce felt fairly certain of that by now. At least he was thinking about her as a _she _now.

He exited the open window, careful to close it quietly behind him, already able to hear the whine of approaching sirens in the distance. The line was already in place where he'd lowered himself to her living room window, dangling placidly in the breeze six floors above the momentarily quiet street.

After zipping up to the rooftop he quickly relocated to the peak of another building across the street, melding into the shadows provided by an unlit billboard. He wanted to observe the police response for a bit and see if he could draw any further information from listening in to their investigation from a location less inclined to be discovered.

As expected, two patrol cars screamed up thirty seconds later, emptying four harried officers on to the sidewalk who proceeded hastily into the building and up to the victim's apartment. Bruce had purposely left the blinds open so that he could see into the residence as well as listen in. Not that there would be much to see or hear until later when everyone else arrived.

It didn't take long, less than six minutes, for the detectives from MCU to show up. As before, it was Bullock and Montoya who responded. Within another couple of minutes the crime scene units arrived, barely beating Gordon and his black sedan. There were no wasted movements, everyone heading straight up to the residence with their equipment where the first responders had already strung yellow police tape over the doorway.

Returning his attention to the light show below him on the street he spotted one of his other targets.

Detective Ramirez was leaning on her car far back from the other police vehicles, just outside the halo given off from a nearby streetlight. She'd arrived quietly, without even Bruce noticing her pulling up and undoubtedly positioning herself near the darkened entrance to a narrow maintenance passage for a reason. More than likely assuming he would be showing up and that he might want to talk to her.

Very perceptive.

Bruce crossed the three rooftops towards her, content to leave a directional microphone and high definition camera pointed at the murder scene. He'd review it all later when he had the free time. As though he ever had free time. Dropping down into the darkness of the narrow passage he allowed his soft soled boot to lightly tap a discarded bottle, sending a tiny, hollow sound down the alley, almost drowned out by the city's ambient noise.

"Figured you'd show up," she said, never looking over into the shadows as she continued leaning on the sedan.

"Same M.O. as before," Bruce responded. "Poisoning. Discoloration of the lips, but no signs of violence or forced entry."

The detective nodded slightly at the news and looked up at the building. "Elizabeth Park. Another bureaucrat," she said, her eyes narrowing in thought as she watched two technicians exit the building for something in their van. "Seems like the killer's definitely got a type."

"Agreed." Bruce paused for a second, not completely sure how to broach the next subject. The Batman was direct though...always. It was a part of the persona. There was no room for doubt or hesitation. "I need you to get me something."

Ramirez didn't move at first, simply continuing to stare across the street. "Alright, I'll bite," she finally said, uncrossing her arms and glancing over into the shadows. She knew roughly where his voice originated from but he knew she still wouldn't be able to pick out his exact location. "What?"

"Information. Copies of the SIM cards from Lieutenant Bullock and Ian Riley's cell phones."

All pretenses of keeping up the charade of ignoring him dropped at that. She stood up and faced him, her eyes wide. "You _know _they're in the police evidence locker." She paused to see if he'd react to that bit of information. "In lock-up," she finally added.

Bruce simply stood where he was, bathed in darkness regarding her. Silence was often his best motivational tool and he used that to his advantage often. Granted, most of the time it was in extracting information, not trying to convince an ally as to a course of action. The tactic worked though when he saw her shoulders drop almost imperceptibly.

"Fine," she sighed, "I'll see what I can do. I think I know a guy down there who owes me a favor. Come to think of it, I think he had a crush on me. Hopefully he'll actually still speak to me though." She glanced briefly back over to the groups of flashing lights across the street. "So, is that all?"

"Yes."

Another lengthy silence fell between them, both of them watching the circus across the street. Bruce started to turn, finally deciding it was time to leave and get back to the equipment he'd left behind when he heard a throat clear.

"Actually," Ramirez said, turning and leaning into the open window of her car, "I've got something for you." She straightened back up now holding a file folder and handed it over to him. "Here."

"What's this?" Bruce asked, taking the item and glancing warily down at it.

"A link between Arthur Vargas and Herbert Wallace," Ramirez replied. "Or...at least...a pattern. I think. Didn't have time to check and see if Miss Park fits in too, but I've got my fingers crossed."

Bruce glanced back up at her to find her fidgeting nervously. She apparently took his silence as a request to explain her findings because she hastily continued.

"Okay, these two were clean...like, squeaky clean, right? I mean, Vargas had a few little dings here and there, but nothing that would piss someone off like that. There _were_ rumors that he dallied with escorts, but I'm ignoring that for now based on these other killings." Ramirez held out her hand, silently asking for the file back. "Alright, I checked into their professional and voting records," she said, flipping it open. "Six months ago Arthur Vargas was the swing vote when the City Council was determining whether or not to sell State Park land to a mining company for its mineral rights. He _had _been a long-time, very outspoken opponent against it...until suddenly he wasn't. His sudden about-face and deciding vote ensured the deal was approved and that area is now in the initial stages of being strip mined."

The detective paused, flipping through a couple more pages before finding what she was searching for. "As a Zoning Commissioner Herbert Wallace made the extremely unfavorable decision to rezone a public park that had been designated as public open space to medium density residential. It was a noticeably and unusually quick decision, one that was shoved through without some of the normal checks and balances. It paved the way for a developer to come in and erect middle income apartment blocks where the park used to be. That was about...oh...five months ago."

Ramirez closed the folder and handed it back to Bruce. "I'm thinking corruption...maybe. Neither of our victims seemed the type to make a decision like they did without some kind of...coaxing. Some kind of outside influence. Whether that's money or intimidation or what remains to be seen."

"And you think that they were being influenced by the same party?"

"Maybe," she started, "but no actually. I mean, it's a viable theory...one that should be investigated, but not what I had in mind." Ramirez shuffled nervously. "It's tenuous, but both of these decisions involved either natural habitat, the environment, or both. I'm thinking we may have some kind of eco-nut on our hands," she said. "One that's graduated from picketing in front of bulldozers or chaining themselves to trees to premeditated murder. It makes sense given the nature of the organic poison, but that's just circumstantial."

The Thoreau quote left at the most recent scene suddenly snapped into focus. The note the murderer had left certainly backed Ramirez's hypothesis. The only question then, was why?

"So?"

"She left something this time," he growled. "A note."

"Yeah?" Her head quirked to the side, eyebrows rising at the curious news.

"Quoted Thoreau," Bruce said. "It mentioned man's misplaced relationship with nature."

Ramirez nodded, her chin coming down to rest on her fingers in thought. "Well, that fits I suppose. Did it say anything else?"

He considered her question for a moment before answering simply. "To expect more." He paused. "Have you shown this to anyone?"

She shook her head, looking mildly uncomfortable. "Thought about it, but nobody would take anything I have to say seriously. They'll just laugh me out of the squad room. Besides," she said, "I'm not even supposed to be investigating this case." A lengthy pause followed. Bruce continued watching her as she fidgeted, staring at the ground or the adjacent buildings. Anything but at him. He was contemplating leaving again when she finally broke the silence. "Right," she began. "So, in the meantime I'll run Park's records and see if she's got anything in her past that falls into the pattern. I'll also work on getting those phone records for you as soon as possible. Hopefully I can have something for you in a couple of days."

Bruce curtly nodded once and simply left, melding back into the shadows deeper into the maintenance passage before making his way back up to the rooftops. He made it to his equipment in time to see the brake lights on Ramirez's car turn the corner to the south and disappear. Turning his attention back towards the burning lights of Elizabeth Park's home he adjusted himself to get comfortable and began listening in to the conversation going on between Gordon, Bullock, and Montoya.

* * *

><p>"You have to admit, she <em>does <em>move with a somewhat...feline grace, Alfred."

Bruce was joking of course. Of all the constants in his life, baiting his butler was assuredly one of the ones he enjoyed the most. He smiled slightly and continued scrolling through the morning's latest news on one of Wayne Enterprises' newest digital tablets as Alfred drove him into the city and towards Wayne Tower.

The day's top story and one that immediately caught Bruce's attention was a thwarted break-in attempt at Alberto Falcone's home. From what he was reading it was plainly obvious most were already assuming that it was some hired gun of the Galante's. Likely there to put an end to Carmine's son's meddling.

As soon as he'd seen the picture of the intruder though, he'd dismissed those theories as nothing more than ignorant speculation.

She was dressed exactly as she had been when he'd come across her in Rupert Thorne's office, all skintight black garb and playful attitude. Apparently Falcone's men had stumbled across her as she tried to gain entrance to his penthouse. They'd confronted her and she'd fought back, resulting in several injuries for the security team. It was actually quite impressive. Well, except for the part where they'd caught her in the act.

Alberto had been surprisingly open to the press about the whole ordeal, detailing everything he knew about the incident and assisting the police in their investigation as best he could. Unusual for a Falcone, but not out of place for a man striving mightily to look like a law abiding citizen.

Trouble was, he knew about as little as they did as to the identity of the mysterious female or the motives behind her failed expedition. Of course, that didn't keep him or the various talking heads in the media from throwing out all kinds of wild theories.

Bruce had especially liked the one where she was a trainee of the Batman.

There was even surveillance footage of the debacle that Alberto had supplied to the news affiliates and that the article was linked to. As well as being entertaining it was also very...enlightening.

"You know," he said, speaking up so Alfred could hear him in the front seat, "you'd think they'd have a little more journalistic integrity at the Gazette than to just shorten _female cat burglar _like that. I mean, _Catwoman_? It's not even creative."

"Because _Batman_ is _so _much more imaginative, sir?" He could see the older man rolling his eyes in the rearview mirror. Bruce just lightly chuckled and kept watching the video play itself out for the third time.

"She obviously knows how to handle herself," he finally added, speaking more to himself than to his driver, "but there's no clear-cut fighting style she's using. It's like an...amalgam of several. Definitely judo...and there's some Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, but the others are harder to pick out. Either way, she's had at least a modicum of training. The way she stays low to the ground and keeps three points of contact is new to me though."

"Quite the warrior woman then, Master Wayne?" Bruce could hear the smile on Alfred's face in his tone.

Bruce nodded absently, his eyes firmly fixed on the grainy video playing in his lap as one of her opponents attempted to rain blows down upon her smaller frame. "She's good, no arguments there...but...well, her defense could use some work, among other things. She lets her arms absorb a lot of impact rather than deflecting the force of it. That's gotta hurt."

"Are you volunteering to be a mentor then?" the older man responded. "Because I honestly can't picture your alter ego as quite the teaching sort."

Bruce grinned, but didn't take his eyes off the video. "No, Alfred. That's not exactly the plan."

"But you do have something in mind?"

Bruce nodded and met Alfred's gaze in the mirror. "Finding her and figuring out who she is. We need to know what she's after."

"Indeed."

Taking one last look at the lone still image of the mysterious thief that the article possessed Bruce's fingers danced over the touch screen interface, backtracking to the day's top headlines again. He paused when another headline caught his attention, one further down the page.

Bruce sighed. He'd be naive to think his presence wouldn't be missed at the opening of the Wayne Foundation's hospital annexes. Unlike the over-the-top gala thrown for the hospital he'd at least managed to talk the board into a more subdued ribbon cutting and cocktail party. It was a small victory though in that it still meant that he'd have to reinforce his public persona and now...well, now he didn't even have bumping into Selina to look forward to.

"So, do I have a date for the opening yet Alfred?" he called up to the front seat.

"Not as yet, sir. I _had _been under the impression that you'd be asking Miss Kyle to accompany you. Since that no longer appears to be the case would you like me to forward you some photos to choose from?"

"No." He shook his head before resting it back on the headrest behind him. "I'll just trust your judgment. Go ahead and pick one and make the arrangements. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Very good, sir."

He kept his head tilted back and closed his eyes. It really was amazing how often he seemed to be operating on almost zero sleep. Last night had been a long one. Patrolling, investigating the Elizabeth Park crime scene, meeting with Ramirez, and then finally analyzing a small mountain of surveillance video and audio logs had taken up pretty much his entire night. Apparently he thrived on sleep deprivation. "And the house?" he finally asked.

"Proceeding as scheduled. The contractor assures me that the finishing touches will all be complete in time for the party."

"Good." He closed his eyes again and enjoyed the steady thrum of the car and comfortable leather seats cushioning his tired muscles. There was supposed to be a board meeting later in the day. Despite how serious it assuredly was it also promised to be a long and tedious experience. Maybe he could get some decent rest then?

The console on his left beeped once to signal a transferred call coming in from his office. Bruce groaned once, tapping the tablet in his lap absently before reaching over and flicking on the speaker phone. Victoria generally knew better than to bother him with anything mundane at this hour. It would probably be important.

"Yep?"

His secretary's cheerful and entirely too energetic voice greeted him. "Good morning, Mister Wayne. I have a Mister Cowher on hold for you. Sir, I think you may want to take this."

"Thanks Vic. I got it." He dropped the tablet down on the seat beside him and picked up the receiver built into the polished wood paneling. "Wayne," he answered.

Less than three minutes later Bruce slowly leaned forward and hung up the phone. Tiredly running his hands over his face he settled back into the seat. "Well that was...odd," he finally said aloud.

"Odd, sir?"

"Yeah," he said. "That was the chairman of _Friends for a Greener Gotham_. Seems an accountant from Wayne Enterprises called them to follow up on the measures me and Miss Isley had discussed."

"Some trouble?" Alfred steered the luxury vehicle past the guard shack at the entrance to Wayne Tower and began winding its way down into the building's subterranean employee parking structure.

"No, actually." Bruce frowned, watching the parked cars roll slowly by outside the window as they made their way ever deeper. "He loved the ideas and they're excited to help work on them. He wanted to call and congratulate us personally on being so proactive and forward thinking. But," Bruce added, "he was also curious to know who this Pamela Isley was that we kept referring to. Apparently they don't actually have anyone by that name in their organization."

"Really? How curious."

The town car pulled up to the express elevator entrance on the lowest level of the garage, parking right in front of it as Alfred shut off the ignition. After a moment of silence, the butler went to open his door to get out. Bruce's voice stopped him.

"Alfred, would you pull her file and start a search on her when you get home? I want to find out who this Isley is and why she decided it was so important to meet with me. There's something wrong here."

The older man nodded to himself and continued stepping out of the driver's side of the car, walking around to the back door and opening it to allow his employer to exit.

Alfred smiled as Bruce rose. "I'll have it for you when you get home this evening, Master Wayne."

* * *

><p>Crime Alley wasn't actually its name. It didn't have one. Not even a number or official designation. It was merely an old deserted alleyway that bordered the back of a couple of restaurants, an old book store, a shuttered pharmacy and ended at one of the side entrances to the looming Gotham Metropolitan Theatre.<p>

That name had been bestowed upon it the night Gotham's two most prominent citizens were murdered within it.

It didn't even really see that much crime really. At least no more than most other similar service roads found within the city. If not for the singular incident that put it into the history books it would be completely unremarkable in almost every way.

Bruce didn't come here often. Not on the anniversary of the date his parents were gunned down. Not even when Joe Chill was finally murdered in the hallways of the courthouse. It was an understandably unpleasant place for him to return to, but he occasionally still ventured there, finding himself walking its short length, taking in the ancient brick, the cracked and crumbling asphalt, the rusted metal grates and aging fire escapes.

He'd inevitably pause for a while near the spot they'd breathed their last breaths. Where his father had softly uttered his final words. There was no marker, no old brownish blood stain to see or plaque showing its significance. Just shallow puddles where the pavement didn't quite drain properly and the sodden trash and refuse that littered the area and collected in the corners and recesses.

All in all nothing much had changed through the years.

His sporadic journeys to this painful place weren't out of remembrance or meant as a way to honor the dead. A murder scene was never the place to try and think of happy times. Bruce came here to remind himself. When he wanted to vividly recall where he came from and why he did what he did this was the place he sought out.

It was always effective.

The scene he relived was old and foggy from all the years that had passed and the natural degradation of memory over time. Still, in some ways, it was as vivid and nightmarish as ever. The gunshots still seemed to explode all around him when he closed his eyes.

Bruce didn't miss the unmistakable clack of heels on the pavement behind him, coming from the mouth of the alley. The sound was approaching him, creating a rhythmic sound in the otherwise deserted space.

This wasn't exactly an area heavily trafficked by pedestrians. Far from it. Even the shops out on the streets didn't see many people at this time of day. Given the heels it had to be a woman and given the growing sound they were definitely here to see him.

The unmistakable scent of her perfume though was what gave her away when she got close enough.

"Selina," he greeted without looking back at her from where he was standing, looking down at the ground, his hands buried in his coats' pockets.

"Hi," she started simply. Her voice didn't register any surprise at his greeting.

"Yeah..." He turned to face her, his body tensing instinctively at the sight of her so nearby. He had most certainly not forgotten their last meeting, nor her hasty exit. "What're you doing here?" he asked tiredly.

"Can't a girl just be looking for a friendly face?" She smiled coyly at him. That smile that would normally make his heart speed up. Only not here...and not today.

Bruce didn't glare at her. Not quite. But, she still got the gist of his look and her face hardened and became more serious in response.

"How'd you know where I was?" he finally asked.

"Alfred."

"Ah." Bruce nodded slightly and smiled exasperatedly. Of course. Leave it to Alfred to never stop believing, to never give up hope for him. Lord knows what he was up to with this. It was something they'd definitely be having a talk about. "Look, Selina..." he sighed.

"I know, I know," she said, holding her hands up in conciliation. "I know what you're gonna say and I deserve it. Every word." Her hands dropped idly to her sides. "Look, I came here to apologize to you..."

"For keeping me in the dark?"

"No," she said simply. "Like I said, I don't owe you. I stand by that. I want to apologize for the restaurant and for my...behavior that night."

"For the kiss," he stated flatly.

"Yeah, that." Selina ran a hand through her hair. It was a nervous tic Bruce had begun to notice. He'd also been noticing that she seemed to do it a lot around him. "Okay look, running into you that night threw me off. I just wasn't expecting it and I'll admit I could have reacted to things...better. I know I said I don't owe you an explanation, but that doesn't mean that I can't give you one anyway."

"Okay..."

"Thing is...I'm not sorry. Not for the kiss." She strolled past him, past the unassuming spot on the ground that he had been standing over. She didn't turn back around to look at him though, instead facing down towards the end of the narrow street. "I don't want to apologize for that. Not when it was something I wanted. Thing is, Bruce, there are...things in my life...commitments I've made," she supplied, "things that I wouldn't want someone like you to be a part of." He opened his mouth to reply, but she raised her hand to stop him. "I have enemies, Bruce. I have secrets and enemies and things that I wouldn't want you to be involved in. It's complicated and...very personal."

"You _could _try trusting me with it?" he said in earnest. "Trust me, I can handle it." She turned and looked back at him, meeting his eyes. She must have seen something she liked because she smiled sadly, her eyes softening ever so slightly.

"I probably could," she finally whispered, but her expression shifted into a frown at the same time. Selina broke his gaze to glance down at the asphalt. "I'm a private person," she started. "Maybe it's my life that's made me that way or maybe I'm just naturally cynical. I don't know. Point is, I _do _want to trust you, Bruce. It just...it doesn't come easily for me. I need time. For now Bruce, this is my choice and I'm making it. Right now I can't be mixing things up in my life and changing the status quo. Not when I have so much still left to do and not when there are still dangerous people out there that I'm involved with. I don't want to see you or anyone else hurt by what I feel I need to do."

"That's not my choice?" Bruce asked.

"Not this time, no," she said.

"And this is your explanation?"

"I didn't say it would be a good one." She paused, letting the was quiet envelope them for a moment, looking around the dirty environment solemnly. "This is the place, isn't it?" Bruce was quiet, turning to look back at the damp spot of asphalt at his feet. After a moment he nodded. "And does it ever get any easier?"

"If I told you it did, would you believe me?"

"Probably not," Selina chuckled. It was an empty laugh though. She was quiet for a few seconds, staring off at nothing while she was lost in thought. Bruce wasn't going to interrupt her, not when she looked so...small. "I lost someone...close to me. Not too long ago," she finally began. "She didn't deserve what happened to her."

"They almost never do," Bruce murmured. He stepped towards her and looked down at the suddenly very fragile seeming woman. "It's hard, but the best you can do is honor their memory and move forward."

Selina looked up at him, tilting her head to get a better look. "Bruce, look where you are." she said. "You're not at your parents' graves. You're not where you can talk to them and be with them. No, you came to where they were killed, to where your life was changed forever. Can you really tell me that you've moved forward?"

"Every now and then I need a reminder," Bruce said without thinking.

"Of what?"

That was _not _an especially easy question for him to answer. Not to her. He might like Selina...maybe even enough to be jealous over whatever was going on between her and Falcone. Still, he was nowhere close to revealing what it was exactly he did at night. He could only wonder what her reaction would be if she were to know the full story about how his parents' deaths had effected on him.

Thankfully she let it go, probably seeing the hesitation and the trouble he was having in answering her innocent question. "I'm sorry if I'm just making things harder for you," she started. "I just wanted to apologize for the other night and I guess I didn't really think things through. I guess I might not exactly be welcome...here."

"What?" he asked, raising his head to look at her. "No...don't worry about that. I mean, I guess I've never really...been here...with someone else...before. Not since the day _it _happened anyways."

Selina paled slightly. "Oh god, Bruce...I'm so sorry if I intruded."

He took her hand gently and squeezed it reassuringly. "Like I said, you didn't," he corrected her. "Truth is, I don't really share any of this with other people." Bruce gestured to encompass the whole area they were standing in, looking briefly around them as he did so before redirecting his eyes back to her. "It's been nice though," he whispered. "I suppose I should actually be thanking you."

Selina smiled. "Anytime, Bruce. It's my pleasure."

"Really?" He grinned. "Won't Alberto have something to say about that? I mean, I've found that having their women spend time with a billionaire playboy tends to upset men."

"Oh Bruce." Her smile stayed in place, subtly shifting into something a little more mischievous to match his. Selina took two quick, lithe steps toward him, putting the palms of her hands flat against his chest. "I may have said I don't owe you anything," she leaned up, putting her lips right at his ear and whispering huskily, "but I owe Alberto even less." Bruce stiffened as Selina pulled back, smiling wickedly. "Besides," she said, still grinning. "I do what I want. You should know that by now."

"I have noticed that," Bruce smirked. After a moment his smile dropped from his face as he turned serious again. "The offer's mutual, you know. Anytime you want to talk about who you lost..."

Selina interrupted him by quickly craning up and leaving a light peck on his lips, catching him off guard. "Thanks. I...I might just take you up on that sometime. Just...not yet." She patted his chest once, before pushing off. "Not yet, Bruce."

She started off down the alley back towards the street, her heels clicking again against the weathered surfacing. Bruce, just watched her go. She did what she wanted after all. What she wanted though was anybody's guess because he didn't have a clue. Did she actually want him? Was she trying to seduce him _and _Falcone at the same time? What was she trying to accomplish with this whole game?

And that wasn't even getting into the fact that she considered him in danger if he was with her. Who or what was she mixed up in?

An involuntary smile formed on his lips as he watched her diminishing form. It was an expression altogether alien given where he was. Bruce may not know what she wanted and that she might alternate between confounding and attracting him, but whatever this was...well, it was at least interesting.

"I'll be seeing you, Mister Wayne," she called out over her shoulder as though she'd been feeling his eyes on her back.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I know we've been seeing a lot of character and plot development, character interaction, and other such stuff. It's necessary. Rest assured though that next chapter features a return to some action and Batman being Batman. _


	18. Chapter 18

_Here begins a slightly more action packed section of story. Probably the next three-ish chapters...of which this is the intro. It was time to show Batman being a bit of a badass again.  
><em>

_Please leave a review folks. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets us authors know you care. I wasn't kidding when I said that update frequency is directly proportional to the amount of reviews.  
><em>

_First and foremost, I want to take the time to thank all of those who do take the time and energy to leave a review. You know who you are and each and every one of you guys rule. Keep it up._

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>Sergeant Timothy Leary finished arguing with the crazed mother and dumped himself heavily back into his creaking desk chair, watching absently as the officers escorted her and her junkie son through the double doors and further into the ancient building that served as Precinct 17, the main police substation in West Harlow.<p>

He absently massaged his aching knee before half-heartedly going back to work scribbling his signature at the bottom of yet another form. Of course there _would_be a full moon out tonight for his shift. It always seemed to bring out the crazies. Not that Gotham needed any additional crazy. She had a pretty good monopoly on it as it was.

Christ he hated working the late shift. Thirty years on the force ought to at least reward you with a calmer, sunnier daytime schedule. After all this time he figured he'd earned it. What was the point of experience if it didn't provide bigger and better things for you?

Leary hated his job as it was. It was an emotion that was amplified to sheer loathing when he received duty on these foul nights. Manning the front desk was rookie work too, boring, repetitive, and annoying as all hell when you had to deal with the crowds of outraged people that seemed to always want something of you. At his age, with six months until retirement, and in his physical condition there was simply little else he was capable of doing though.

Much to his disdain he'd been relegated and made obsolete to the point of being nothing more than a paper pusher and clerk.

Ten years ago he'd taken two bullets in the back during a robbery in progress he'd interrupted at a small convenience store. He'd managed to come back from that after a hospital stay and rehabilitation, but not without a few new metal pins in place and a chronic ache in his lower back. They'd temporarily taken him off patrol duties then, a position that became permanent once he'd injured his leg and eventually required a knee replacement surgery after being hit by a drunk driver a year later. Ever since he'd been playing the role of the gruff, semi-alcoholic desk sergeant to perfection.

"Hey Sarge?" Timothy looked up to see one of the hated rookie patrolmen heading his way. They always seemed to have just enough ego to annoy the hell out of him. "I got a couple drunk and disorderlies coming in. There room in the drunk tank tonight?" Leary just grunted and nodded once in response, earning a not-so-subtle eye roll from the younger man.

He knew he was a walking...well, hobbling...cliche. He knew they joked about him behind his back, called him Grandpa and other not-so-endearing nicknames. Sergeant Leary didn't care. They could all go to hell as far as he was concerned. He was just counting the minutes until he got his retirement package and made his way to warmer environs.

"You know, it wouldn't _actually _kill ya to speak in full sentences to them from time to time," chimed in a cheerful, feminine voice from behind him. "As endearing as your gruff, petulant attitude might be to some of us, not everyone can decipher your vocabulary of grunts and growls." An attractive brunette woman in uniform plopped into the seat next to him, grinning at him. "Hell, if you actually smiled at them sometime you'd probably have them running away in panic."

Leary's massive frame shook slightly as he rumbled a laugh. Of all the elements of his current job, perhaps the only one that helped make it somewhat bearable was the infectious optimism of Officer Katherine Lindstrom. She was on desk duty while preparing to have her first child. Still some months away and not yet really showing her pregnant state they were often paired together.

Probably because she was about the only one who could tolerate working with him.

For some strange reason she even seemed to enjoy his company, chatting amicably with him or poking good natured fun at him as he glowered. The Sergeant had tried his damndest to ignore or annoy her and make her go away, but dammit if she hadn't persisted and managed to grow on him instead. It certainly helped that she was a bit of a looker despite the uniform and plain old ponytail she usually sported. Hell, if he'd been twenty years younger and she wasn't knocked up he'd probably have eventually screwed up the courage to ask her out.

As it was he settled for being a friend and rather unorthodox father figure instead.

"I'm not here to make friends," he grumbled, but it was accompanied by a twinkle in his eye.

"All I'm saying is it's just too bad they don't know how soft and cuddly you are, Tim," she continued with a wink. "Come on. You could _totally_be the precinct's big ole teddy bear."

"Will you keep it down?" he rumbled. "Cause I want _that_ to get around. Shit Kath, I'd never hear the end of it. Besides, I am _not_a teddy bear."

She smiled wide, exposing a row of astonishingly bright teeth. "Awww...are too." She mock punched him in the shoulder. "Downright cuddly and everything. In fact..." she leaned in to whisper to him conspiratorially, "I think we should recommend you to be the precinct's Santa this year. The kids would _love _it," she laughed.

Leary rolled his eyes and fought off the smirk that was attempting to blossom on his face. There was just never any winning with her. Women.

"Hey," Kath said, her suddenly serious tone gathering Leary's full attention, "Did Schwartz tell you he was gonna take a leak or somethin'?"

"No." Leary glanced up at her to find her squinting and staring at the security monitors built into the desk in front of her. "Why?"

"Cause he's not at his post," she said, gesturing to the screen. "Nobody's at the other door."

The precinct building had been designed with two main entrances available to visitors. One, the main entry with the double glass doors that the front desk faced was off the street while the second, more inconspicuous door was down a hall at a small alley and parking lot. It was standard procedure to always have an officer manning that entry as well as the front desk. Cops weren't exactly beloved in Gotham City and it paid to take precautions.

"Moron," Timothy grumbled, scanning the monitors over Katherine's shoulder. "Idiot knows he's supposed to tell us before he goes anywhere. "Okay, fine," he sighed, rising to his feet. "Stay here. I'll go see where the dumbass ran off to and boot his skinny butt back into that chair. You got this?" he asked as he rounded the edge of the desk. Katherine just waved her hand at him, shooing him away.

The public men's restroom was empty. That was the first place the sergeant looked since it was on his way to the other entrance. He even detoured slightly to check the break room but found only a small group of patrol officers enjoying some coffee before heading back out. Rather than check the locker room, employee restrooms, briefing room and myriad of other spaces and offices in the building he headed for the small, out-of-the-way desk and chair set up in a corner by the old wooden door to see if the man had returned while he'd been searching.

No such luck.

He frowned and opened the door to the outside. If that kid was flirting with some girl outside where the camera's wouldn't catch him screwing around then there'd be hell to pay. Again, from what he could see everything looked normal, just a couple of sedans and a delivery van in the quiet lot with the usual two dumpsters pushed up against the building.

"Schwartz?" he called out into the gloomy silence. "It's your ass if I catch you out here. Get back to your damn post and stop fuckin' around. I swear to god..."

The lights flickered once and then died suddenly inside the building, plunging Leary into shadow from where he still stood in the open doorway.

"Shit," he groaned. "Just wonderful."

Precinct 17 was an old building in an even older neighborhood. The building was older than the Sergeant and never seemed to lack for problems in all his time spent there. Power surges had happened before plenty of times, but that was usually during the summer when it was a lot warmer. On the bright side, at least it wasn't the plumbing this time.

Leary scanned the dark parking lot one more time before he started to turn back to grab a flashlight, lit only by the single overhead light in the alley...and the still brightly blazing lights from the neighboring buildings.

The electricity was only out in the precinct.

He eased the door closed, wincing when it still clicked audibly in the now incredibly present silence. Something was definitely wrong. Even at this time of night there should be something...some kind of noise nearby in the building.

Creeping back down the hallway to the main reception area as quietly as possible Leary swore at himself for leaving his service weapon at home. He had been ever since desk duty became his everyday reality year ago, figuring he'd never need its use again. He'd traded it's familiar weight on his hip for the ability to comfortably sit in a desk chair for long periods of time. Not long after he'd stopped bringing it to work altogether.

A flicker of light from around the corner brought him to a stop. Several flickers of light in fact. Flashlights. He could also make out someone whimpering nearby as well as others talking in hurried, but hushed tones. Leary chanced a quick peek around the corner and froze.

Two cops and a civilian lay in the middle of the room, the pools of blood the bodies were producing spreading and meeting where they lay close together, obviously executed. A group of armed men stood in a rough circle around them, casually talking before four of them loped off for the back of the building. Another figure, closer to the hallway, was holding a softly crying Officer Lindstrom at gunpoint on her knees.

Before the group of four had left there'd been maybe a dozen intruders total. Certainly there were more police in the building than that, but not well prepared and expecting trouble. Especially trouble that sported assault rifles and silenced handguns as these did. They'd be caught fumbling in the dark and murdered.

Sergeant Leary's blood boiled. Something had to be done and done quick.

The main desk had the silent alarm, the panic button that would lock down the station and call for help, electricity or no electricity. Judging by the door he'd opened earlier the button hadn't been hit though before the reception area had been overrun. The least he could do was trap the animals in with them. In the darkness he could probably make it behind the desk unseen too.

Unfortunately that also ignored Kath and the fact that she could be murdered at any moment.

It wasn't a debate. Not really. He'd help her first, get her out and then worry about shuttering the building with him and the murderers inside it.

The sergeant came around the corner low, ignoring the flare of pain in his knee because of the crouch and approached the man holding Kath at gunpoint. As he moved slowly another four left the room to make their way further into the station, leaving just the three still talking in the center of the room plus the man in front of him.

"Pssst."

The hooded man spun instantly when he heard Leary whisper nearby on his right, bringing the muzzle of his gun with him and thankfully away from the back of Katherine's head. The minute it was clear he was slammed against the wall, his rifle wrenched out of his hands and turned on the other men who had already spun towards the commotion.

Leary silently thanked the lord that Katherine wasn't _so _panicked that she couldn't react to the situation because she was instantly scrambling for the hallway as soon as her attacker met the wall next to her with the older man close behind her. They'd barely made it back around the corner before bullets began ripping into the bare concrete block walls.

The young woman's giant, panic stricken eyes met his and he merely pointed down the hall, yelling "_Out! Now!_"

Surprisingly the woman didn't move, simply glanced down the path he indicated and looked back at him. "What about you?" she finally yelled.

He leaned the weapon he was holding around the corner and fired a burst into the room before looking back at her. "Kath, just go. I'll be right behind you. Promise." She sadly took one last knowing look at him before nodding, smiling slightly and turning to head off into the darkness for the unseen door. "And hurry," he called after her, hoping fervently that there wouldn't be any unforeseen surprises for her along the way.

The sergeant poked his head around the corner again for a split second before bullets began burying themselves into it.

They assailants were holed up behind some low walls about two thirds of the way across the room. Obviously he'd spooked them and they hadn't yet gotten their wits or balls about them to try and attack his position yet. He hesitated and looked back down the hall where Lindstrom had disappeared. It would be so easy to just get the hell out and save his own neck.

Somewhere within the building he could hear the heavy thump of a shotgun go off a couple times.

There was fifteen feet of open ground to the desk and the shelter it would provide, not to mention the switch underneath the counter. If he ran now it would mean the deaths of cops. Whether they annoyed the crap out of him or not, they were still his brothers. He wouldn't just leave them to die at the hands of some two bit thugs.

Shoving the barrel of the assault weapon around the corner he let loose with a long burst of fire before darting out from cover, still firing into the partition he knew most of them were behind as he went. Leary was about halfway across the room when they figured out that something was up and began returning fire. Neither side was being especially careful with their aim though and he managed to inelegantly slam himself behind the thick wooden obstacle. He grit his teeth as pain blossomed in his back and tender right knee from the impact. Still, he'd made it.

Reaching up he flipped back the covering and jabbed the button, relieved to see the light alongside it begin flashing to indicate its activation. Help _would _be coming and these assholes weren't going to be able to go anywhere until then. The sergeant smiled wickedly to himself as he raised his weapon over the top of the counter and returned fire from his position.

The smile died quickly when the rifle clicked empty after only three shots.

There was nothing more to be done. Nowhere to hide and only the hallway he'd come from that could provide any form of escape. Except that now the door at the end of it was locked after his latest actions. He was trapped in the building with them behind his hated desk and had no way of providing himself any more cover fire.

They'd figure it out eventually. Maybe there was at least hope that help would arrive before they started sticking their nose out to test the waters. It was a fleeting hope, but it was there.

Sergeant Leary settled back to await his fate, whatever that may be. Either way, he'd go down fighting.

* * *

><p>The shrill tone in his cowl's headpiece startled Bruce from where he crouched, installing a camera and microphone under the eaves of Sean Riley's newest safehouse. This one was directed into what was presumably the master bedroom. Hopefully it'd actually pick up something of use and not just an empty room like some of the others.<p>

The alarm was an identification tone, uniquely signifying that a police emergency transponder had been activated somewhere. That could mean almost anything so Bruce quickly switched over to the police band to listen for the alert and began easing himself back up to the rooftop from which he'd just descended.

Wayne Enterprises had been fortunate to supply the police with a number of security and emergency systems in the past few years. The lockdown systems at some of the police buildings and the transponders were just some of the equipment the company had provided at a significantly reduced price to the eager city employees. Lucius, of course, had been gracious enough to provide the Batman with links to every single one. Now he'd know if even a patrol car was in a panic situation. It was a system that had already enabled Bruce to save several officers from being overwhelmed in tense situations.

Now it was causing an all points alarm to be issued for Precinct 17, one of the oldest and most tumultuous of the GCPD's various substations. He frowned as he listened to the various units responding. It wasn't long before even Gordon was on the radio en-route. An entire police building put into lockdown could not mean good things. In fact it hadn't actually happened yet. It meant that practically everyone was responding as a result.

Bruce didn't hesitate, running for the edge of the building and jumping, gliding off into the crisp night air towards the growing storm.

* * *

><p>For once Jim Gordon was enjoying a hot home cooked meal with his family. It was a welcome change. Normally he'd be eating alone, his dinner cold after having been left in the oven hours earlier while everyone including his wife was fast asleep upstairs.<p>

Of course it was a strange conundrum for the Commissioner. He did what he did, the long nights and brutal days, for them. To see to it that his family...indeed everyone's families...would be safe from the pressing threat Gotham always held. It was that same devotion that also sometimes made him feel like almost a stranger in his own home.

His daughter was prattling on about something that had happened in her geography class that day when the call came.

Barbara gave him the look that said to ignore it but he dug his cellphone out of his pocket anyway, frowning when the emergency identification code was blinking on the screen. That was odd. It was a code he didn't recognize, one that began with the number two. He knew it meant an all points bulletin and that it was important. He just didn't know how important.

Gordon threw an apologetic look towards his wife and began scrolling through the message that was attached.

Less than two minutes later he was out the door and skidding down the street in his sedan on his way to West Harlow, his radio firmly gripped in one hand as he shouted instructions over his siren and waited for a situation report.

* * *

><p>While the GCPD set up down at ground level Bruce was busy with his own preparations on the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. Careful to avoid the precisely positioned police snipers he quietly assembled thermal and night vision cameras to give him situational awareness. High overhead somewhere above even the circling police helicopter was the Wraith, flown in a holding pattern by Alfred and relaying intercepted signals and its own overhead images.<p>

There had been no signs or demands from inside the building, but Bruce's equipment had managed to pickup some conversations from inside. Of particular note was the clear Irish accents of a couple of the men who were obviously gunmen. Riley's men then. Some kind of daring raid to take revenge on who he perceived to be his son's killers then?

It was unprecedented. There was never any love lost between organized crime and the police, but to attack a police station? That was something new.

The attackers' stress levels were also noteworthy.

They hadn't planned to get trapped in the building or to take hostages and from what he could tell they were very unhappy with the situation they now found themselves in. This had probably been meant as a swift attack. Get in, kill as many uniforms as you can, and get back out before the word was spread. It was the only thing that made any sense. Riley's men weren't exactly suicidal and they weren't looking to spend the rest of their lives behind bars. Obviously they hadn't counted on someone making it to the panic switch. Someone had managed to put a very large kink in their plans and probably saved lives by doing so.

The Irish also didn't control the entire building.

It was still locked down, the doors and windows completely secure, but there was still sporadic gunfire coming from inside. There were still cops holding out against them and defending themselves. The outrage of having their own attacked as well as the fact that they were still in there fighting meant that Gordon's boys would be charging inside as soon as the lockdown was deactivated.

That didn't leave Bruce with a lot of time.

He'd already enlisted Lucius' help in trying to delay them as long as possible remotely. The man had a hand in developing a lot of the tech so hopefully he could buy Bruce a few more minutes.

An additional problem was that Bruce couldn't be seen. Not yet anyway. If the GCPD got a glimpse of him in there too there'd be a frenzy on their end and people would end up dead, possibly himself included among them. Thankfully the snipers were watching the windows, not the roof and the helicopter hadn't dropped anyone up there yet. He still couldn't glide though. Too noticeable.

He'd just have to get up another, more old fashioned way and then sneak in through one of the backdoors that were programmed into the system for his use.

* * *

><p>God bless the sound of sirens.<p>

Sergeant Leary never thought that familiar whine could sound so beautiful...or save his life quite like it had. He'd managed to stay hidden and keep the gunmen away long enough for the first squad cars to come screeching into view through the glass double doors. Even then it had almost been too little, too late.

He groaned a bit and shifted his weight a little, trying to adjust so the myriad of injuries they'd imparted upon him didn't hurt quite so much. His lip was bleeding and his nose broken, that much was obvious. The internal injuries were harder to figure. He knew he had some cracked ribs at least, but hopefully nothing worse than that and the other bruises that were sure to form.

All in all he felt fairly fortuitous to only be suffering that much. He'd pretty much expected to have been killed immediately, though that outcome was still a distinct possibility.

Leary was still in the main entrance hall to the precinct building, sitting on the hard tile floor as the three remaining men anxiously debated what to do. One of them was occasionally on his cellphone with someone. Who it might be on the other end and whether they were in the building or not wasn't exactly clear. Still, judging by the deference the man showed whoever was on the phone he was a man that made decisions.

The three attackers he could see were under a lot of stress and cracking under the strain, that much was obvious. Between anxiously fiddling with their weapons and casting long harried looks outside they looked as though they were barely keeping it together. What wasn't quite clear though was how they'd react to being boxed in and trapped. They didn't really look like the surrendering type. That meant they might try to negotiate, but the Sergeant was a pragmatist, in the end either the gunmen would be killed or the hostages or a combination thereof.

The gunman he'd dubbed skinny man pocketed his phone again, shot Leary a glare and went back to talking with his compatriots. Judging by the way each of the other men glanced in his direction too once he'd rejoined their conversation something was up and obviously it involved him.

The thought was barely complete in his head when the three broke their little meeting and began making their way over to him. The one on the left, the man with the slightly high pitched voice was grinning evilly and anxiously fingering his machine pistol's trigger.

"Bad news, old timer," skinny man said, accompanied by a quick laugh. He roughly grabbed Leary by the collar and began hauling him painfully to his feet. "You get to be the example that shows the rest of the cops we mean business." The Sergeant was shoved towards the front doors, awkwardly stumbling on some loose debris their earlier firefight had left scattered around. The hand shoving him brusquely forward never wavered.

They stopped him about ten feet from the closest pair of doors, the man behind him turning to address the one with the voice. The one that would apparently do the deed.

"Floyd? You ready to get your hands dir...Floyd?"

The uncertainty in his voice caused Timothy to look over his shoulder at them.

There were only two gunmen. He turned his head the other way, but there was nobody else in the room that he could see.

"Floyd?" the skinny one called out again. "Where'd you get to man?" He took a step to his right where there was still some available cover as well as somewhere a person could hide. The other gunman, the one whose torso resembled a tree trunk, headed for the front desk at the end of the reception hall where Timothy had been less than an hour ago.

When he found nothing behind the low partition walls he walked back towards the Sergeant before turning towards his comrade, his mouth open as though to call out to him. Leary turned too.

There was no noise other than a barely audible _zip_, but they both caught the lower two thirds of the big man's body and legs disappear quickly through an open skylight fifteen feet up in the ceiling.

The two men just turned to look at each other, the shock and disbelief plainly visible on their faces.

Then the skinny man lost it.

Leary immediately dropped heavily to the ground once the man started waving his automatic weapon around desperately. Despite the intense pain in his ribs there was no need to make himself collateral damage if he could help it. The lone remaining masked gunman was rapidly turning in circles, his eyes darting, panic stricken over the absurdly quiet, still ceiling.

Slowly Timothy saw the dawning of an idea in his captors eyes as he seemed to remember his hostage, his crazed eyes meeting the Sergeants from beneath the dark ski mask before he spun back to the prone officer, the muzzle of his weapon raising threateningly.

A pair of small, dark objects were suddenly buried in his right forearm, his rifle clattering non-threateningly on the ground at his feet as he gripped his injury with his good hand and bellowed angrily at the shadows. Almost instantly he began frantically scrambling for the sidearm he had tucked into the waistband of his pants with his off arm, the one sporting the jagged black shuriken hanging unused at his side.

Leary wasn't about to stand around and wait for the other shoe to drop. He began crawling for the man's discarded assault weapon, ignoring his screaming ribs and praying the terrified man didn't have the presence of mind to notice.

In the end it didn't matter.

No sooner had the barrel cleared the man's belt than Leary glimpsed a shadow seem to detach itself from the wall behind him and cross the room absurdly quickly considering there was almost no sound.

It wasn't complicated to figure out who it was. The points atop his head gave that much away. The Sergeant didn't even have time to fear for his own well-being before the vigilante was grabbing the final assailant. He locked the man's elbow and simultaneously gripped the gun, keeping it pointed safely at the floor. A lightning quick backhand struck the thug before he was spun and thrown over the caped man's hip where he thudded loudly on the hard floor.

The pistol that was somehow still in the Batman's hands was disassembled in the space of time it took Leary to think it, it's pieces discarded half-hazardly to the side while the armored shape loomed over his cowering prey.

"How many more?"

The voice was low and menacing and the Sergeant blinked. Not many officers had actually had dealings with Gotham's famous outlaw, much less actually heard him speak. It was disquieting to hear the myth actually utter anything.

If possible the criminal on the floor shrunk even further into himself, trying to merge with the cold tile upon hearing the emotionless voice. He was sweating profusely and shaking under the unwelcome attention being payed him by the dangerous figure. The Batman took a step forward. "Te-ten," he managed to croak out, his eyes widening as the vigilante stooped down in front of him.

"And where's Riley?" he growled, leaning in close so that he was face to face with the wide eyed man.

"S-Sean?" he said, surprised. Hi clamped his eyes and mouth closed and grimaced when he realized he'd dumbly implicated the Irish and his boss in the raid. They flew back open when a large gloved hand closed over his throat and pulled his face so that it was almost touching the black mask. "He's not here. Honest," he cried.

"_Why_?" It was more a snarl than a question posed to the terrified man.

"Please...I...I mean...come on, do you have any idea what he'll do to me, man?"

Leary could barely make out the answer it was so low, almost a whisper. But there was no denying how ominous it sounded, full of simple threat and promise.

"You should be more worried about what _I'll _do to you?"

The Irishman's eyes bugged underneath the ski mask still covering his face and he nearly choked. If he wasn't wearing a mask the Sergeant was sure the blood would be draining from his face. Panicked, the man's eyes began scanning the room for any kind of help of rescue, eventually settling on the officer where he still sat on the floor, silently pleading.

Leary fought off the instinct to shrug and just stared back. He might not envy the position the poor schmuck was in, but he wasn't exactly ready to leap at the chance to help him either. No matter what the black caped intruder may or may not have done over a year ago.

Eventually the ski mask wearing man closed his eyes and shook his head in frustration before opening them again, his entire body slumping in defeat and dejection. "Fine," he said, his tiny voice barely carrying to Timothy. "Sean's out for blood. Damn fool wants to take on the whole fucking police force for what they did to Ian. It's crazy...I mean, he's lost it, but what're you gonna do, ya know? That guy, Petit...the one who killed his son? He's a dead man." He let out a humorless laugh and finally looked the giant man in black in the eye. "Hell, there's even a hit out on the Commissioner."

The Batman just stared at him after he stopped talking, as though he was searching his quarry's features for the truth.

"I swear to god," the skinny man pleaded. "Please."

In one fluid motion the armored man drew his arm across the other mans face, making him recoil and cower. Instead of striking him though he simply seemed to tap one side of his gauntlet against the man's neck. The Irishman went limp almost instantly, his head lolling to the side.

The Batman dropped him unceremoniously to the ground and turned to go.

"You...you killed him." Leary was struggling to his feet, wincing slightly at his injuries, but still stunned by what he'd just observed. He knew the Batman was supposed to be a killer. A cop killer even. But such ruthlessness and cold blooded murder still managed to startle him.

The masked man stopped and looked at him at of the corner of his eye before glancing down at the body. "He'll live," he said simply, his voice rumbling in the silent room. The vigilante turned more fully to look at the Sergeant, his dark eyes appraising him quickly before settling on his. "Stay here and stay out of sight. Help will be in here soon."

"Help?" the officer asked. The Batman's eyes flickered ever so briefly from his to something over his shoulder prompting Leary to turn slightly and look behind him. You could just make out the red, white, and blue lights from the police strobes playing over the glass doors. "Oh, right," he said. Timothy turned back to find the room completely empty save for the unconscious criminal and the three dead bodies from earlier.

His apparent savior, a murderer of police officers, had disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as he'd arrived.

Leary ran his hands over his face and tiredly looked around the room at the bodies and debris. "Jesus, I'm too old for this shit," he murmured.

* * *

><p><em>AN: For shame on any of you that don't recognize the quote at the end of the chapter. So there you have it. A locked down police station, bad guys holding hostages, surrounded by the GCPD, and then there's Batman. _

_By the way, the one guy getting dragged up through the roof. Yeah, the visual I had in my mind was from the Aliens movies. Just thought that'd be a truly terrifying thing to turn around in a dark room and see. _

_I also kept the video game Splinter Cell in mind when envisioning these next few chapters. _


	19. Chapter 19

_Part two of Batman's foray into a hostile police station.  
><em>

_Please leave a review folks. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets us authors know you care. I wasn't kidding when I said that update frequency is directly proportional to the amount of reviews.  
><em>

_First and foremost, I want to take the time to thank all of those who do take the time and energy to leave a review. You know who you are and each and every one of you guys rule. Keep it up._

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>"Alfred, that's three tangos down."<p>

Bruce maneuvered himself through another darkened hallway, listening for any possible activity ahead as he made his way deeper into the locked down building. Ducking into a small office so he could have a conversation without running the risk of having someone stumble on to him Bruce settled beside the closed door.

There had been several more bodies just outside the room, slumped against the walls where they had been gunned down, their blood staining the floor and walls already drying. So far, every single one he'd seen since the entry hall had been police officers. Violently and mercilessly gunned down before they knew what was happening or before they'd had time to react.

That made ten so far that Bruce had come across since he'd dropped into the building. There would surely be more.

"Understood, sir," came the reply.

"How long until the police break the firewall and breach the building?" he whispered.

There was a pause before Alfred's clipped accent came back over the headpiece. "Lucius assures me that you have another seven and a half minutes."

"And do you have a reading on the remaining hostiles?"

"Yes, sir. Thermals show three still on the ground floor with you and seven more upstairs. One is currently at the northeast fire door alone. The other two...are located in the back of the men's locker room. Master Wayne, it would appear that they have a number of hostages with them as well."

He took a deep breath and reached for the door knob. "Got it," he finally said, slipping back into the hallway and turning right, heading for the lone sentry.

He'd been lucky so far that the attackers weren't really communicating with one another. So far they were content to split up and secure the building or go about mopping up any stragglers or holdouts. Once they did though they'd begin to realize that there were people missing. Their people. It meant he needed to move fast, a factor that didn't mesh easily with getting all the police officers and civilians in the building out alive. Speed could mean mistakes if he wasn't careful and mistakes meant people could die.

Rounding low around a corner he spotted a shadow move across the mouth of an adjacent hallway, one that ran perpendicular to the one he was currently in. His target was slowly, casually patrolling in front of a bank of barred windows punctuated by the heavy steel emergency exit to one side. He was smoking too, his Russian assault rifle slung over one shoulder.

The man's back was to Bruce too.

It wasn't going to get any easier than this.

* * *

><p>He was here somewhere. He had to be. There was no way the Batman was going to sit on the sidelines and watch a hostage situation take place. Not when he could do something about it.<p>

Commissioner Gordon squinted when the night suddenly turned to day, illuminating the surrounding area in a harsh, unnatural light as the helicopter passed by overhead, its spotlight sweeping the precinct building and surrounding grounds while its rotor wash kicked up dust and loose debris on the street. .

This was going to get tricky. Trick, hell...this could turn in to a damn nightmare.

If the Batman was somewhere around here...hell, he was probably already inside playing holy havoc with these mysterious attackers...then that by itself threw a monkey wrench in the situation. He couldn't exactly allow him time to work, not when it was a police station and his men's brothers in arms were in the line of fire. Nor could he pull back the helicopter and snipers. That would be transparent and cause too many questions to be asked. Especially if things went south.

No, he'd have to rely on the Batman's skill and abilities to get himself out of it should the time come. Again. As much as it grated on him Gordon had his part to play in all this and it inevitably seemed to mean that he had to make things as hard as possible for Gotham's Dark Knight.

He was standing with his detectives and the commander of the SWAT forces that would storm the building once the lockdown was lifted, generally feeling helpless as the city engineers worked off to one side.

The system hadn't reset as expected when they'd input the command and override code. In addition the lack of electricity to the building was proving troublesome. It was annoying that things weren't working as advertised, especially given the situation with his men itching to get into the battle. The engineers were left as confused as anyone. They'd done multiple test runs with the system in the past and it had worked every time. Now, they were having a hell of a time figuring out the problem.

Gordon idly wondered if a certain winged vigilante might have something to do with that. God knows he had resources Gordon couldn't even begin to fathom.

"Movement." The voice crackled over the radio in his hand. He'd been talking directly with many of the snipers and spotters they had set up to keep better apprised of the situation. This was one operation where he'd be damned if he let anybody else call the shots. "Northeast side at the emergency exit door."

Gordon keyed his handset to speak with his spotter. "Same tango as before?"

They'd been watching the same man patrol the area ever since they'd arrived. He wasn't necessarily avoiding windows, either too stupid to realize they'd have a high powered rifle aimed at his forehead or shrewd enough to know that they wouldn't fire for fear of retaliation against the hostages.

"Yessir. Uh...standby." There was a click when the man released his push-to-talk button. It was only a couple of seconds before he came back on the line though. "Be advised, I think someone just managed to take out the sentry."

"One of ours still inside?" Gordon asked, frowning as Montoya and Bullock looked at him with questioning expression on their faces.

"Unknown," came the quick reply. "Fast and dark. Couldn't make out much, but something definitely happened to him."

The Commissioner tried to hide his smile, but one side of his lip quirked up anyway. Of course he'd already be in there and of _course_ none of them would have any clue. He glanced at the men and woman standing around him, some talking on their own radios while others just watched the scene unfold.

Hopefully the Batman wasn't about to get caught in the crossfire.

* * *

><p>There were three of them in the locker room now, spaced closely together and talking heatedly between themselves. None of them were aware anything was going on to their compatriots yet judging by how one of them was leaning against the tiled partition that separated the locker area from the showers. Another was sitting on the counter where the sinks were located, his weapon laying carelessly a few feet away.<p>

The five hostages were sitting in the shower area itself, enclosed on all sides by sterile white tile except for the opening in the four foot wall that led into the rest of the room. The opening that was being monitored by the heavily armed men. They were huddled together, one woman and four men, three of whom were in uniform. The other two were either civilians or had been off duty when the criminals struck.

It wouldn't take much from the gunmen with them grouped like that. One unfortunate burst of automatic fire and all five could easily be killed.

So he'd have to make it quick. And he'd have to lure the gunmen away if possible in order to do it.

A portion of the ceiling was suspended from the beams of the building, creating a crawl space through which all the electrical and ducting ran. Below him were the usual textured acoustic panels that were found in so many public buildings. It provided the perfect vantage point for Bruce to get a sense of the situation as well as an ideal place from which to mount an attack. The tiles wouldn't support his weight, he had to stay on the steel support structure to which they were attached, but he could easily drop through them at a moment's notice.

The problem was, the ceiling of the bathroom area was concrete because of the steam and moisture that area routinely produced, the acoustic paneling only extended as far as the locker room portion of the space. He'd need to lure them to him if he was to get the drop on them.

Of course the situation changed drastically once one of them made to leave.

Bruce could hear enough to know that he'd be sent in search of the men in the lobby, stopping by to check on these two first as they were closer to the stairs. Now it seemed he was finally going back to his original task.

Two would be easier than three, but he couldn't risk the man finding his unconscious brethren and sounding the alarm, much less stumbling upon the injured officer he'd left there. No, Bruce would have to deal with this threat immediately. He backtracked through the maze of wiring and ducts to the hallway outside the changing rooms and carefully removed the panel directly above the door, attaching a cable to the support beam above him and perching over the hole expectantly.

The ski masked intruder didn't keep him waiting long.

Dropping down silently behind the clueless criminal as soon as he was clear, Bruce clamped one hand firmly over the man's mouth as the other expertly jabbed the small spike at the end of one of his gauntlet's scallops into the joint where the neck and shoulder met. As soon as that was accomplished he activated the winch and dragged the two of them quickly back up into the crawlspace.

To any observer it would have appeared that Bruce had barely even touched the ground.

The chemical again worked just as Lucius had promised and the man relaxed in his grip almost instantly, his extremities hanging down completely limp. Unfortunately the man's now slack grip let go of the two objects he'd been carrying when Bruce surprised him. The clatter of the gun and small radio striking the ground beneath them echoed down the narrow, empty hallway.

Almost instantly one of the remaining two gunmen could be heard next door murmuring an alarmed, "The hell was that?"

"Bobby probably tripped in the dark, the idiot." came his partner's response. Bruce heard a sigh before someone began shuffling around back in the adjacent room. "Wait here," said the voice again. "I'll go see if he needs help."

Footsteps slowly approached the doorway, easily discernible on the worn tile. Cautiously a silhouetted figure poked his head around the corner of the door frame.

"What the hell?" the man said curiously, his head scanning first left then right down the darkened hallway. Hesitantly he stooped down, looking at the discarded weapon and radio laying on the ground. Bruce was about to duck down out of the ceiling for the second time when the man suddenly straightened back up and called back into the restroom. "Mickey c'mere a minute."

"Why?"

"It's Bobby. He's uh...gone." The slight figure that was sent to investigate straightened up, tightening his grip subtly on the weapon cradled in both hands and nervously scanning back and forth again. A few seconds later another silhouetted figure joined him, casually walking out to the first man's side.

"Gone?" Mickey asked.

"I told you...gone," the first man nodded, then pointed at the ground with one hand. "Look." As the new guy, Mickey, bent down to investigate the other one again started looking nervously down the hallway. "I don't get it, man. Something's wrong."

"Yeah..."

The sentence was rather brutally cut off by the impact of Bruce's knee into the masked man's lower back as he dropped again from the ceiling overhead, sending him charging head first into the nearby wall. He pushed off, throwing himself backwards in reverse and ramming himself into the second target. As soon as they hit the opposite wall he spun low with both arms, connecting with both knees and buckling them, sending the intruder sprawling.

The first man was gingerly staggering back to his feet, his head still in his hands. Bruce took two steps and unceremoniously slammed the man's head again against the block wall, ending his night for good. He'd likely have a concussion, possibly even fractures, but he'd certainly live.

He'd been fast enough in the follow-up that the second assailant was still on the ground, only now righting himself and beginning to scramble back up. Bruce turned to face him and moved forward, his arms coming up.

The man was terrified, his eyes rapidly moving from side to side looking for a means of escape, but Bruce was between him and the locker room, the discarded weapons, and the stairs leading up to the rest of his companions. He took a step back from the looming shadow, obviously hesitant to stay and fight with someone who had effortlessly taken down several other men before him. After a second and another evaluation of his options though he swallowed hard and faced him.

The first punch was woefully telegraphed. Bruce stepped forward and turned slightly, trapping the man's extended arm underneath his own as he put his shoulder into the intruder's chest. Bruce drove him backward, using his leverage and strength to propel the poor Irishman's back into the wall. Immediately he wrapped his ankle around the criminals and took him to the ground, following him down and kneeling on his windpipe.

The slim gunman barely even put up a fight once he was on the ground. In seconds Bruce's knee had cut off the blood to his brain and the man passed out.

* * *

><p>Something was wrong.<p>

He'd been trying to reach the men they'd left in the lobby for almost five minutes now through either the radio that had been left with them or their cellphones. No luck. Bobby had reported in when he got to the locker room and met up with Mickey and Ryan, but he hadn't reported back again since. Dammit, he should have made contact with Floyd and the others by now.

Something was definitely wrong. The feeling was quickly worming its way through his gut, making him sweat.

As though things could get any worse.

Five minutes. They were supposed to have been in this fucking building for a grand total of five minutes before high tailing out and leaving whatever corpses they'd managed in their wake. Now here they were. Stuck. Plenty of potential corpses around still breathing and waiting to be killed, but a completely different situation than the one they'd planned to be in meant they might need hostages. No, they couldn't simply kill them all outright. At least not yet. Not until they came up with a new plan.

He knew Sean was working on...something. He wouldn't just sacrifice them and leave them to the cops. No, not him. If there was one thing that Sean was, it was loyal.

Seamus Kennedy was a first generation American. His parents had made the journey when he was a small boy and he'd earned his citizenship in his teens. He was proud of his roots though. Proud of his still very obvious Irish lilt. He'd met Sean Riley decades ago when they were both in grammar school and the two had proven fairly inseparable. Now, years later, the two still relied upon each other. Still helped each other through their tough times.

Ian had been like a son to Seamus as well. He'd known the boy since he was just a lad, watched him grow up and observed both his successes and his failures with pride. Hell, he'd helped raise him at times, none more important than when Sean was behind bars. It had hit him almost as hard as the boy's father to learn of the Ian's death.

It was why he'd jumped at the chance and volunteered to lead the attack on Precinct 17.

The room around him was bathed in shadow, light filtering in through the blinds and patterning across the desks as the ever present helicopter above circled past again. They'd taken up residence in the detective's squad room on the third and uppermost floor as much out of convenience as for the fact that it easily covered the top landing of the stairs from behind the safety of the cubicle partitions. Nobody was getting up those stairs without them seeing. Nobody. Anybody that tried would be met with more lead than they'd possibly know what to do with.

He tried again to raise Floyd or Grady on the radio, cursing again quietly when there was only silence on the other end. He switched over and called for Bobby. Maybe he was still in the locker room. Seamus could send a couple of them to check on the reception area.

Silence.

Seamus frustratedly tried punching the call button again.

Shit. One group of people being unresponsive was one thing. He tried to reach Mickey or Ryan. Nothing. He could feel the sense of panic rising inside him and pushed it down. Now was not the time for his men to see him lose his calm. That didn't change the fact that this was no longer a coincidence or a technical anomaly. Something was definitely wrong.

What the fuck was going on?

It wasn't the cops, of that he could be sure. Despite their silenced submachine guns and special tactics squads there was no way they breezed through seven of his men without a peep or one of his men getting off even a single lucky gunshot. No, this was something else entirely.

Whatever it was, they needed to be ready.

Of course he still needed to find out if there was anyone or anything left downstairs though. It didn't pay not to be thorough. Besides, he wanted warning if and when the cops came in to try and wipe them out. Seamus motioned for three of his men to come over for instructions.

* * *

><p>Bruce bent down and finished securing the last of the three unconscious men, patting him down for any hidden weapons or useful items before silently moving on.<p>

He left the hostages where they were. Hopefully they'd be smart enough to stay put.

The Wraith's thermal imaging hadn't picked up any more mysterious heat blooms in the last few minutes when he'd checked in with Alfred. Every heat source that was still on the ground floor had already been tagged as either a hostage or a neutralized enemy. Thankfully that meant that all the remaining bad guys were grouped together with the final hostages and apparently they still hadn't been alerted to his presence.

That left Bruce's trying to figure out a way to get upstairs undetected and deal with those final six lurking somewhere in the detective's offices.

Hugging the wall he approached the fairly expansive stairwell in the center of the building, settling into a crouch at the corner and peeking around to scout the upper stories.

The space was one of the key architectural features of the aging structure. An open, airy rotunda with stairs leading up one side and ending in a large multi-paned skylight at the top. The whole room was punctuated at regular intervals with large, normally airy windows as well. Thankfully they all had their blinds drawn, eliminating most of the twilight from seeping in. Still, with the open design of the room he'd be facing quite a few challenges.

The stairs, of course, were out of the question. Too easily defensible despite the fact that he could grapple up to the third floor landing in seconds. They were also too well lit. The intruders may have been a bit overzealous in their haste to incapacitate the precinct's lighting. In their rush they'd even succeeded in disabling the emergency systems that would normally have winked on during a power outage. Unfortunately, even with all the lights out and the blinds closed, the large windows in the spacious, open floor plan of the office area at the top, combined with the giant skylight let in plenty of ambient light. Even now Bruce could see a ray of filtered yellow-white play across the wall opposite the landing as the helicopter's searchlight moved over the side of the building. The lack of electricity was _not_ effecting the intruders' ability to see up there. An alternate route would be preferable for both his safety and the safety of the people held captive.

Bruce looked across the shaft of the stairwell to the hallway opposite him. The elevator was further down that way. In the building's powerless state they likely wouldn't be worrying about that. He could get in and work his way up through the shaft, emerging deeper in the top floor and probably behind any defenses they had set up and waiting.

Taking a step out from behind the corner he froze upon hearing a disturbance above him.

Plainly audible above were muffled footsteps from up on the top level, approaching the landing two floors above him. From the sound of the boots on the floor there was definitely more than one man too, likely three or four. Bruce shrank back into the deep shadows beneath the landings, well out of sight unless they came downstairs. Even then it would surely be difficult.

"Christ, it's dark down there," he heard one of the men from above whisper.

"Shhhh."

"I'm just sayin'. Why can't we use our flashlights? I can't see shit."

"_Shhhh!"_

The staircase somewhere further up creaked slightly in the darkness, continuing as the small group descended in a tight group.

The men were more than likely heading his way as the second floor was nothing but secure storage and archives and was sure to have gone into lockdown with the rest of the building. No, Bruce was sure they'd be coming all the way down, possibly to look for their comrades. The fact that they weren't using flashlights meant they also had an idea that something was amiss and were attempting to hide their position.

Of course, if they knew exactly what had been happening for the past fifteen minutes in the darkness of the police station there was no way they'd be venturing down. The fate of the other Irishmen remained a mystery to them.

Three dark silhouettes finally came into view and reached the bottom of the stairs as he watched, all three of them looking anxiously around in the gloom. Finally, after some brief whispering and exaggerated gesturing they set off down the hall in the direction from which Bruce had just come.

Silently, he detached himself from where he'd been concealed behind a display case and followed them.

* * *

><p>"<em>Shhhh!<em>"

Davey was pissed. Not only were they trapped, not only were they surrounded by the fucking cops, not only was it black as shit, but now they weren't even supposed to use their flashlights as they went downstairs to look for that idiot Bobby. Too visible or some shit, Seamus had said.

So, instead they were floundering in the darkness and trying not to break their damn necks just to get downstairs.

To add yet another annoyance the old stairs seemed to groan deafeningly at every footfall, making the three men wince every time another creak echoed in the cavernous room.

Will stopped them at the bottom of the stairs to take a moment to let their eyes adjust to the deep shadows that seemed to cling to all the walls down here. Davey couldn't help but stare at the yawning pitch black opening of the hallway that they were to go down to search for their uncommunicative comrades.

"Christ it's dark," Bryan whispered from beside him. "We're seriously going down there?"

"_Shhhh_," the two men whispered at once. Davey rolled his eyes at the man's lack of situational awareness and wondered again why they'd been saddled with him. Seamus probably just didn't want to have to depend on him upstairs and decided he was expendable.

By that measure, it meant he and Will were expendable too. It was a very sobering thought considering the nearly oppressively dark environment they were about to enter. Spooky didn't even begin to cover it.

Leaning in, Will nudged Davey's shoulder and nodded toward the dark opening once, his face set in a grim seriousness that displayed exactly how nervous he himself was by their little mission. He gestured once, fingering the rifle in his hands and set off.

The small group was maybe two thirds of the way down the long passage a couple minutes later, stopping constantly to check the various rooms and offices strewn along it. Thus far they'd found nothing out of the ordinary. Just blackness and silence. Somewhere ahead, they'd finally get to the employee locker rooms and restrooms where Mickey and Ryan were supposed to be. It had to be close now, there simply couldn't be that much hallway left.

"_Hey,_" Bryan whispered suddenly from behind them. "I think something just brushed against my ankle."

Davey and Will both turned back to glare at the younger man. The man who couldn't quite seem to keep his mouth shut. "What?" Davey finally whispered back.

"It's my ankle." In the gloom he could see Bryan bend over and try to look at his left leg. "I dunno...feels like something kinda..."

There was no noise besides the thump of the young man's chest on the ground and the breath that was knocked out of his lungs as his legs were suddenly yanked out from beneath him. His face clearly showed the sudden panic that washed over him despite the darkness, staring wide eyed up at them as they stupidly looked on in confusion.

"Shit. Guys?"

His scream reverberated down the narrow passageway as he disappeared into the blackness, being dragged backwards by his ankle at a freakishly quick speed until he all but vanished. The two other men took off after him back down the hallway, fumbling for the flashlights they'd stuffed into their pockets before coming downstairs.

Davey made it perhaps ten or fifteen yards before he practically tripped on Bryan. The man was surprisingly unharmed, sitting up and rubbing his ankle by himself in the middle of the hall. It took a second before he registered the beam of the flashlight playing over him, squinting his eyes into the bright light.

"The hell happened to you?" Davey whispered after a second.

"Don't know." The other man shrugged and looked back down at his ankle. After a second he began struggling to his feet, wincing slightly when he put weight on his left leg. "Whatever it was...it just let go." Bryan was staring over Davey's shoulder now searching in the darkness back the direction he'd been dragged. A moment later he glanced back at Davey with a strange look on his face.

"Where's Will?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Part three will probably be the final bit in this little section. Hoping to kick the action up another notch one the police finally get in. Ought to be fun. Hope you all enjoy. _


	20. Chapter 20

_Went away for a few days and all it did was delay me one day in my normal weekly update. If anything, I managed to get a lot done last week and all but have Chapter 21 in the bag too. So, with that said...here's what we're gonna do. If I see five reviews on Chapter 20 then I'll update with Chapter 21 immediately upon receiving the fifth. How's that for incentive. So, be sure and leave a review (I'm looking at you silent masses) and you'll get to see the final chapter in the Precinct 17 saga that much sooner. Good, bad, critical...whatever. I want to hear from you.  
><em>

_As always I also want to take the time to thank all of those who took the time to leave a review. There was a great many of you and I appreciate and learn from each and every one. You guys rule. Keep it up._

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>"Where's Will?"<p>

Bruce glanced down at the unconscious figure he was perched over in the hallway. Now that they'd realized they were short a man the remaining two gunmen would be searching for their lost comrade immediately. Bruce needed to deal with the body quickly. Looking up at the ceiling first and then down the shadowy corridor he figured he had two options open to him that would provide the best results. He could either allow them to find him and attack when they lowered their guard or he could move it and make the man vanish, playing on their paranoia.

Knowing the men would pursue the man he'd initially dragged away Bruce had instead made him the decoy. Looping the cable from his grapple around a column back by the rotunda he'd actually managed to drag the Irishman past where he'd been hidden just inside a small office his quarries had recently searched.

It had been a simple task to pull away the second of the two men when they came running past after the first and keeping things quiet while he dealt with him.

Bruce made his decision and left the body where it was, slipping a couple surprises for his friends underneath the still form and slipping back into the room he'd initially hidden in. They'd be foregoing their original attempts at stealth and be using flashlights now. Of that he was sure. The darkness wouldn't be their friend anymore and they'd be just as terrified of it and what they couldn't see as whatever happened to their compatriot.

Indeed, it wasn't long before a couple of tight beams could be faintly seen moving over the walls outside the room he was hidden within. The brightness grew and soon he could hear the cadence of shoes striking the floor as the pair came running back down the hall.

"He's here," one of them hissed, trying to keep his voice low.

The footsteps skidded to a stop and the beams of light stopped flickering about, focusing somewhere on the floor where they likely came to rest on the unconscious body laid out in front of them.

"What...what the hell happened?" asked the other man in a noticeably shaky voice.

The streams of light began moving again, searching down the hall and just inside the door of the room he was in. They were definitely on edge, knowing their friend hadn't simply tripped and knocked himself cold, but unwilling to venture far to do a more thorough search. Thankfully, Bruce had also had the good sense to remove the small handset the unconscious man had tucked into his jacket pocket. The other two wouldn't be able to call for help or send warning to the men upstairs. Not without returning there themselves.

"Is he...is he alive?"

Bruce had left the body face down for a reason. There was always a reason. In order to check his pulse or breathing they'd need to flip the body over. He'd counted on that or the fact that they'd want to move him.

The trio of small flash bombs he'd wedged under the Irishman's body turned the gloomy hall into brilliant daylight for a brief second when they fell free, rapidly dilating the two intruders' eyes and effectively blinding them for several seconds as their nervous system sought to catch up. That would be all Bruce needed.

He whipped around the corner of the doorway and immediately met the closest man who was furiously rubbing his eyes with one hand. Bruce grabbed the assault rifle held limply in his other hand and twisted hard, easily yanking it away. He followed up immediately with a small downward kick to the side of his knee, dropping him to the ground painfully as he cried out. A hard right ended the kneeling man's night permanently.

Sidestepping to his right he moved for the second assailant. The remaining man was blinking his eyes, likely still seeing stars, but beginning to regain his vision. Indeed, his eyes went wide as he turned towards his friend's cry of pain and saw what was approaching him.

Bruce didn't wait for any further reaction, meeting him head on like a freight train. Still recovering from the intense light and somewhat disoriented he was slammed violently to the floor, an impact that caused him to drop his weapon, leaving it just out of his grasp as the breath was knocked from his lungs. Bruce was kneeling over him instantly. Never one to give his quarry a second to catch their breath he brought the bottom of his fist whipping across the man's face and slamming into the side of his jaw, snapping his head to the side.

The Irishman managed a single grunt before collapsing back onto the tile with a hollow thunk.

"Sir?" Alfred's familiar voice intruded a moment later as Bruce went to work securing the three men he'd disabled with flex-cuffs. "Mister Fox has alerted me that the security grid will be disabled at any moment. The police _will _gain access at that time." There was silence on the other end of the line as he continued about his task, but the communications link was definitely still active. "Sir?" Alfred finally asked again.

"I heard you, Alfred."

"Might I recommend employing your exit strategy soon then?"

Bruce frowned. What exit strategy?

"I've got one more thing to do." Bruce let the question about his exit plans go unanswered. There was nothing his faithful servant could do about that now. No need to worry him ahead of time.

Alfred seemed to understand that. Nothing more needed to be said. "Understood, sir, but might I remind you that should you be caught Wayne Enterprises stock will certainly experience a significant drop. You _do _have more livelihoods than just your own to think about.

"Thanks for that." Bruce barely contained a grin and eye roll at the butler's attempt at levity. Leave it to Alfred to have a semi-morbid sense of humor in even the most serious situations. Of course the fact that he was safe in the cave beneath Wayne Manor several dozen miles away rather than being trapped alone in a darkened police station containing a group of well armed men probably helped.

"My pleasure, Master Wayne."

* * *

><p>"Commissioner?" Jim Gordon started minutely at the voice, glancing over to see the expectant faces of Harvey Bullock and the SWAT field commander, Captain Russell looking at him. It was the Captain who was addressing him. "We'll have the lockdown protocols disengaged in less than a minute, sir. We'll breach the building at your command."<p>

He nodded once, slightly, looking back at the familiar worn and weathered face of the building across the street from him. He might have no evidence to support it, but he just knew that somewhere inside the Batman was selflessly going about his business. Probably saving lives in the process. A familiar concern always raised its head on instances such as these. Instances when he was about to be forced to send men into a situation where the vigilante was involved.

Would this be the night that he finally slipped up and Gordon's own men caught up with him?

He couldn't delay much. His men would be screaming to get in there and deal with this blatant attack against some of their own. Any hesitation by him and he could appear indecisive and uncaring about his own officers' lives. Act too fast and it could spell the end of the Batman. Hell, it could even cost the mysterious man his life.

Such was the tightrope he'd been occasionally forced to navigate since the night the Batman had assumed Dent's heinous crimes. Of course Gordon couldn't remember it ever having been quite to this degree before.

In the end there wasn't much choice. He'd have to trust his friend and his abilities. Trust that he'd either already be gone or would get out once the assault began.

"Commissioner?"

"Yeah," he said, meeting the eyes of the deadly serious man dressed in black combat fatigues and body armor. "It's time."

He nodded, looking again back to the building. "Go."

The captain spoke into a microphone attached to his shoulder and almost immediately a single file line of men outfitted in black apparel and armor identical to the field commander appeared between the vehicles, skirting along the outer walls of the building so as not to be visible to anyone inside. They low walked quickly but efficiently, their suppressed nine millimeter MP5 submachine guns held out at the ready as they approached the double doors.

An identical column was approaching the front door from the opposite side as well, getting into position to breach the reception area together. Above, out of sight but easily audible despite all the ambient noise, the helicopter was hovering over the roof, disgorging a six man tactical team to begin a sweep from the top of the precinct down. Gordon knew other teams, ones he wasn't in position to see were also converging on two other entry points on the far sides of the building. There would be no escape for the criminals inside from the vise about to close down upon them.

It was an impressive display of men and firepower really. Their professionalism and skill easily a match for the unknown that awaited them inside. The sight was also threatening to give the Commissioner an ulcer.

Despite his lofty position, Gordon still wasn't someone who enjoyed sending men into situations that he himself was not going to participate in. In all his time as Gotham's top cop it was something that he still hadn't gotten used to.

When possible, he still preferred going in with his troops. Thankfully, being the Commissioner meant that there weren't many that could stop him when he felt like it. Not only did it help him remind himself who he was and strengthen his resolve, but it allowed Gordon to still feel a part of things in the trenches, a fact that was generally appreciated by his men. Being able to see their boss willing to put his life on the line for them increased the respect they held for both the man and his office. To most of the officers on the force, he wasn't just another suit and tie sitting behind a desk somewhere in a glass tower. He was still one of them.

It also meant that it didn't raise eyebrows when he breached a building alongside the assault force.

The Commissioner drew his weapon and checked the chamber to ensure a round was already inside, glancing up to find his two detectives staring at him. "Bullock, Montoya...come on," he said, securing the kevlar vest again where it wrapped around his waist before loping off between the cars and heading for the assault team on the east side of the entrance.

The trio had barely shoved themselves against the wall when the shaped charges the teams had affixed to the doors exploded, blowing the heavy doors right off their frames and sending a shower of glass inwards. Several flash grenades followed soon afterward, tossed around the corner by the team leaders before the smoke and debris had cleared.

Gordon and the detectives swept into the lobby right on the heels of the pair of ten men teams, working quickly to search every dark corner and possible hiding place with powerful flashlights attached to their weapons before pronouncing the room secure.

The scene the flashlights uncovered as they swept over the room was alternate parts heartbreaking and baffling. Near the center of the room were three bodies, obviously moved there and executed. Judging by the dried blood and their location they may very well have been the first casualties of the attack.

The far corner by the giant wooden desk was where they found the desk sergeant. He was sitting patiently in his chair, one of the intruders tied securely in the seat next to him, his head lolled to the side, still unconscious. Behind the older officer, hanging high overhead two more of the assailants hung upside down from the ceiling, swaying ever so slightly from the force of the explosion.

"You gotta be kidding me," Bullock muttered, coming to stand next to Gordon and Montoya. "How long you think he's been in here?"

The female detective shook her head in both awe and confusion. "You think he's taken any more out?" she asked.

The Commissioner fought back a grin and shook his head. Leave it to Batman to almost make it look easy. Still, as counter to his sense of right it might be, he still had an appearance to keep. Gordon slipped his radio from his belt.

"All teams, be aware," he began. "The vigilante known as the Batman may be on the premises. I want all units to report any sightings immediately. I repeat. Report _any _sightings immediately." He placed the handheld back where he'd gotten it and turned to the younger detective. "Montoya," he said, pointing to the sergeant off to the side. "Find out what he knows."

The tactical teams were already massing at the entrances further into the building, preparing to proceed with the rest of the operation. Bullock and Gordon made their way over to them while Montoya trotted off to interview their newest witness. The team leader nodded that they were ready as the two men approached, eliciting a nod from the Commissioner.

"Go," he said.

* * *

><p>The explosion didn't take Bruce by surprise, he'd been expecting it eventually. There was simply no way that Gordon was going to even attempt to keep his men out of the building once they had access again. Still, it boomed through the quiet building, rattling the old structure ever so slightly and causing a fine layer of dust to fall from the ceiling.<p>

Bruce finished popping the latches on the elevator car's emergency access door and pulled himself through the small hatch in the ceiling. He needed to hurry now. The police teams coming in would get hammered the minute they tried to come up the stairs. There may only be three enemies remaining, but they had both the cover and the high ground, not to mention twelve hostages that they could execute at a moment's notice. Bruce wanted to finish this. Now. He'd worked too hard to get this far with zero casualties to have it turn into a disaster now.

Once that was accomplished he'd worry about getting himself out. Then and only then.

The Irish were certain to know they were under attack now if they hadn't already. Even without the almost deafening blast they would have easily felt it. They'd try and use the hostages now...maybe as negotiating chips, almost assuredly as human shields. Possibly just in retaliation.

They still wouldn't be expecting anyone to be coming out of the elevator though. In a way, the police's intervention was timely. All the Irish's attention was bound to be concentrated on the rotunda now. Awaiting the inevitable.

Snapping the line taught Bruce replaced the grapple gun on his belt and winched himself to the third floor's doors, securing himself in place and forcing the sliding partitions apart slightly. A quick check with a pinhole camera ensured there was nobody nearby and he went to work prying the doors apart enough to pass through.

Seconds later he was proceeding deeper into the interior of the building, making his way quickly but carefully back in the direction of the main stairwell.

* * *

><p>Gordon bent down to get a closer look at the three men laying still on the cold tile floor. Each one was meticulously disarmed and secured with their hands behind their backs.<p>

It had been the same with the group they'd found just outside the men's locker room. Unarmed, unconscious, and restrained. They may as well have been gift wrapped for Gordon and his men.

The tactical teams had also managed to secure six hostages thus far including the desk sergeant in the entry hall. All of them were shaken and sporting a bruise or cut or two, but otherwise unharmed. It was almost miraculous. The five that had been discovered inside the men's locker room's shower area didn't even have a clue that their captors had been dealt with and left incapacitated outside the door.

With these three that brought the number of attackers that had been neutralized by parties unknown up to nine. Well, not necessarily unknown. More...avoided. Again, the Commissioner really hoped Gotham's Dark Knight was already out of the building.

Gordon stood back up to let a couple of the black clad men start carting away the unconscious hostiles. Looking around he watched his men quickly and efficiently set up on the far side of the hall to continue the assault further into the building's interior. They'd meet up with the other teams clearing the ground floor at the stairway rotunda and head up from there.

It was unfortunate that the emergency stairwells were still off limits. It forced their hand and meant that they'd be going directly up the grand main stairs instead, at which point they'd also have the rooftop group descend on ropes and access the building through the floor's large windows.

The emergency stairs _would_have been ideal to utilize in the assault, but apparently their controls had been accidentally placed on another server which meant that they were still locked down. It was a minor installation oversight that could ultimately prove fatal.

Gordon had internally debated, but his men had been chomping at the bit as it was. Delaying them so the technicians could reset and unlock the fire escape doors would have probably proved untenable and extraordinarily unpopular. In the end the decision was pretty much forced on him. He couldn't afford to look hesitant.

The Commissioner looked back across the hall where a familiar rumpled figure was leaning casually on the opposite wall, a deadly serious look on his face as he stared back at Gordon.

Bullock had been unusually quiet during the whole affair. While some of the men in the tactical team were obviously left scratching their heads by what they were encountering, the Lieutenant was no fool. Likely he suspected exactly what was going on within Precinct 17, he simply didn't know what to think about that. The man _had _been responsible for the vigilante's manhunt for almost a year now. He'd been facing plenty of crime scenes where the caped enigma had left the GCPD a bunch of tied up criminals, but this was probably striking closer to home. Hunting a man that was risking his life to save a bunch of his fellow police officers could easily force a crisis of conscience of sorts.

Unfortunately the Commissioner couldn't really press him. Everyone knew he'd had a less than by-the-books deal with the criminal dating back before the Joker swept into town. It was probably that precise reason that the head of MCU was still searching his face for answers or clues.

Playing neutral, he again drew his service pistol when the team completed sweeping the two closest offices and began proceeding down the dark corridor, their blinding tac lights playing out in front of them as he and Bullock moved to bring up the rear.

* * *

><p>Things were past disastrous now. They were bordering on utterly desperate for the remaining three Irishmen. Hunched up against the low partition wall at the top of the main stairs Seamus could just make out the dim glow of the police's tactical team's approach.<p>

He'd given up quite awhile ago on Will and the other two he'd sent down less than five minutes ago. There'd been no gunfire since the explosion on the other side of the building and his men weren't the type to simply give up without a fight. At this point he just assumed they'd already been dealt with.

It was infuriating. He'd been in charge and lost nearly everyone under his command without a single shot being fired or a single clue being uncovered. Now he'd be forced to finally fight the police with not the dozen heavily armed men he'd originally envisioned, but only himself and two others.

Anything Sean was going to come up with was too late now as well. He and the other two lads were alone, with only a pair of Russian assault rifles, an UZI, and a trio of 9mm pistols between them to do as much damage as they possibly could in whatever time they could buy themselves.

It was the whole reason he'd kept Aidan and Michael with him. Whatever their end, they'd go out blazing and take as many of the GCPD fuckers with them. They were the two men that he could count on to use their last breaths for one final pull of the trigger.

Seamus glanced again at the huddled figures lining the railing of the third floor landing. He'd created what amounted to a human wall between the three of them and the lower floors. They'd be able to fire down on any attacking team with impunity while their opposition couldn't do anything for fear of murdering their own men. Seamus was quite proud of his little strategy and the other two seemed quite enthusiastic as well. Either way the men and women arrayed out in front of him would die, but it would lend a strange sense of pleasure if they happened to be dispatched by their own brothers as they were trying to save them. However, just to be sure...

"You two be sure and put em all down," he whispered to the two others, indicating the hostages. "If you're the last man, no shit, you kill every last one of those bastards. I don't want a single one of em makin' it outta here breathin'."

"You're going to have to live with disappointment."

The deep raspy voice from behind them took all three completely and utterly by surprise. Seamus almost choked on the last of his words, spinning in place to find a black nightmare of a man standing less than ten feet away. The threat was so sudden and took all of them by such surprise that none of the gunmen had the presence of mind to continue training their weapons on their captives.

For a couple seconds they all gaped openly at the armored man, a lull the Batman used to his advantage. He already had a strange gun-like device in his hand when they'd turned, a weapon which he now raised as he darted to his left, firing it past them as he and his comrades finally came to their senses and brought their weapons to bear. The roar of automatic fire exploded into the stillness as their bullets began tearing into another partition wall that the masked man had ducked behind.

Just as Seamus' attention was slowly shifting back to the hostages, his only remaining bargaining chips, a heavy object slammed into him from behind. His still stunned mind somehow registered the large wooden desk careening forward through them. Seamus realized far too late that the Batman had fired at the desk behind them and not the Irishmen directly. Either way, the massive piece of furniture sent all three sprawling, causing two to lose their grips on their weapons as they were bowled over.

He was on them before they were even back up on two feet.

Seamus had a brief glimpse of Michael swinging unsuccessfully at the black clad intruder before being unceremoniously hammered by a devastating elbow. Wobbling unsteadily to his feet he began fumbling for his sidearm as Aidan had the UZI twisted from his hands, howling in pain when a large booted foot slammed sideways into the side of his knee with a sickening crack.

The rest was blocked from view as Seamus finally took the time to look down, carefully unsnapping the latch that kept the pistol secured in it's holster and drawing it smoothly. He brought up the reassuring weight of it only to find the other two men sprawled out on the ground, Aidan's leg bent unnaturally while a trickle of blood slowly dribbled down the side of Michael's chin.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself. His eyes tracked left and right as he backed himself up against the low wall behind him.

The Batman was supposed to be a criminal, right? The GCPD's number one most wanted even. Why the hell then was he saving a building full of cops? It just didn't make any damn sense. The next thought that raced through his mind was the pact he'd made with his two downed colleagues. The cops were assuredly coming full bore up the stairs by now, alarmed by the automatic weapons that had briefly exploded above them.

The hostages. They were still clueless to what was going on, blindfolded and tied to the banister at the top of the stairs and he still had a weapon. Although this night might be ruined he was still in a position where he could exact some form of revenge. His grim task set, he started towards the dozen terrified, but otherwise unaware figures on the far side of several rows of desks. Closing in, Seamus raised his weapon, sighting down the barrel as he'd been taught when he was just a lad.

A vise-like grip closed on his wrist, twisting it upwards and causing him to send a wild, reflexive shot into the ceiling tiles. The Batman was back in front of him suddenly, glaring down at him. Seamus impulsively swung wildly at the masked man, a strike that was easily ducked. The grip on his wrist shifted, sending pain racing up his arm as the vigilante brought his armored cowl slamming down into Seamus' forehead.

Stars exploded in front of his eyes and he stumbled, dropping to his knees and tasting the familiar tinge of blood in the back of his throat. His arm was still being held aloft by the man in black and he still had possession of his weapon for the moment, gripped weakly in nearly limp fingers.

As if on queue the handgun was snatched out of his grip and discarded, his arm released to land heavily beside him.

Seamus weakly started to try and push himself back up, his mind utterly blank other than being aware of the sharp ache in his head and the shadowy figure still looming above him. Somewhere in his mind he knew it was a bad idea to continue. He was unarmed, injured, and completely ill prepared to be taking on the man who had single-handedly dismantled his party of hardened, experienced gunmen.

He flipped himself over instead, letting his back press against the hard ground and resting his head against the cool tile as he unconsciously signalled his surrender. Almost unnoticed, the Batman's hands relaxed from the fists they'd been clenched in a moment before.

"_Freeze!_"

Seamus numbly registered the Batman's head snap up at the shouted command, his entire body going rigid in an instant while his eyes tracked left to right over the group of black clad men spilling into the room past the restrained people at the top of the stairs. Before he laid his back down on the cold floor and closed his eyes in resignation, Seamus was vaguely aware of the vigilante's hands slowly going up in surrender.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Cliffhanger! Dun, dun, duuuuuun!_

_Alright, five reviews. Go! _

_Chapter 21 promises action, deception, awesome butlers, and a serving of Selina right there at the end. _


	21. Chapter 21

_Well I threw down a challenge and you all responded. Six reviews in about three and a half days. Fulfilling my part of the bargain, here is Chapter 21, three days ahead of when I'd normally have posted it. Enjoy it, it's a fairly long one._

_However, don't think that it lets you reviewers off the hook though. Let's hear what you have to say. My expectations for you all have been raised so be sure and leave a review. I want to hear from each and every one of you. Trust me, they never fail to motivate me to get more work done so the more reviews, the faster you'll see updates. It's like a law of nature or something.  
><em>

_As always I also want to take the time to thank all of those who took the time to leave a review. There was a great many of you and I appreciate and learn from each and every one. You guys rule. Keep it up._

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>Inwardly cursing his lack of awareness, Bruce looked warily over the gathered police officers, past the unwavering barrels pointed determinedly in his direction. Behind their goggles the eyes that stared back at him were filled with a deadly serious intent and conviction.<p>

There were any number of ways out of his current situation, but at the moment pretty much every single one of them meant accepting that he'd be taking a bullet or two in the process. With so many guns trained on him that was unavoidable. Being shot would also severely hamper any further escape attempt as well as the unlikely outcome of one being possibly fatal.

Hesitantly he began raising his hands in surrender. They'd be further away from his arsenal, but any movement towards those and he'd likely be fired upon anyways.

Until he had something better in mind it was the best option he had. There would be a steadily dwindling window of opportunity though before they decided to unmask him. He absolutely _had _to have that better idea by then or everything was still undone.

With so many eyes and ears on him he couldn't even contact Alfred for assistance.

"Well, well. Bout damn time."

The hulking frame of Harvey Bullock came stomping into the room, followed soon afterward by a fairly distressed looking Jim Gordon. The hefty Lieutenant continued forward, leaving the Commissioner to stand behind the semi circle of armed men. "Nice to finally meet ya, Bats," he said, a slight grin breaking out uncharacteristically on his normally dour face. "So, not quite so freakin' terrifying now that he's surrounded and outgunned, is he?" Bullock asked no one in particular.

Bruce stared coolly back, keeping his hands just above shoulder height and schooling himself so as not to back down or show any reaction.

The unkempt officer gestured over his shoulder and one of the gun wielding men approached the two, lowering his weapon and producing a set of handcuffs. "I ain't sure what you're doin' here, freak, but I sure ain't gonna look a gift horse in the mouth." He nodded to the other officer. "Cuff him."

Stepping forward, the heavily armed policeman reached out for Bruce's raised right hand. He'd be able to pick the lock of the handcuffs easily enough. Once in a police sedan or van he'd probably be able to get free and escape. Trouble was, there was no guarantee they'd be taking him back downstairs and outside with his mask still in place. Being restrained and unable to prevent them from removing it was unacceptable.

Bruce prepared to make his move and use the unfortunate man as a human shield. It would be desperate and ill planned, but his other options were rapidly...

The sudden, deafening squeal that came from the radio on Bullock's belt startled even him. A split second later the tactical team reacted, most dropping their weapons and clutching at their heads in obvious agony as they tried to rip their earpieces out while others doubled over in pain, gritting their teeth and trying to bear the pain coming over the radio headsets they all wore.

Like the Lieutenant, Bruce wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He brought his right arm down into the crook of the reeling SWAT officer's arm, stepping into the man so his back was to him before bringing his left arm's elbow whipping around into his helmeted head. With the protection it provided the strike wouldn't hurt too badly, but it would stun the man and get him out of the way.

Leaving him, Bruce stepped into a still stunned Harvey Bullock, capturing the man's gun hand as it came up. He locked the joint and brought his opposite elbow down into the man's forearm, loosening the detective's grasp enough to tug the weapon away. Bullock reacted quickly, shoving a forearm into Bruce's armored chest as he drew his opposite hand back to strike.

Rather than wait and deflect the incoming punch, Bruce pushed, driving against the large man and propelling him backward. The move caught Bullock off guard, sending his right arm flailing to keep his balance rather than continuing its previous motion. When his lower legs ran into the prone officer that Bruce had already dealt with the Lieutenant went tumbling, ending up sprawled on the floor over top of the man.

He was already recovering and scrambling for his discarded sidearm when Bruce ran, vaulting over the nearest partition and moving low through the rows of desks.

The other police forces were coming back to their senses, having ripped the small speakers out of their ears reflexively at the intrusive noise and finally begun responding to Bullock's shouted orders.

A short burst of automatic gunfire stippled the desk behind him, sending a flurry of small wooden shards falling to the floor. Bruce slid around another desk and pressed himself against another low partition. He'd managed to put some distance between himself and the officers and in the low light they still didn't have a great bead on him, merely scattered glimpses, but they were coming fast now. No doubt they'd also be circling around outside in the hallway to cut him off too.

Ignoring the numerous calls for his surrender he moved again, darting between cover steadily deeper into the relatively open room and closer to the back entrance that he'd originally used to surprise the Irishmen.

The glass of the windows beside him shattered spectacularly as a special tactics officer swung in from the roof, trying to gain his bearing and footing as soon as he came into contact with solid ground. Further down the outside facing wall, several others were making similar entrances wherever there were available entry points in the exterior wall.

Bruce couldn't afford to be boxed in by the new arrivals. He grabbed the nearest man and sank the tranquilizer needle into his shoulder before inelegantly dropping him. Ducking back down as new flashlights began adding their exploratory beams to those already searching for him he emptied his belt of every smoke pellet he had, splitting the dozen spheres into both hands.

Without a moment to spare he threw a wide spread of them in both directions, waiting several precious seconds for the billowing white clouds to obscure the area before hurtling over the nearest desk and making a beeline down a side aisle for the door out into the hallway where the elevator doors were located.

Narrowly avoiding one disoriented trooper in the haze he managed to make it to the hallway entrance just as the cloud began dissipating out the shattered windows.

That's where he encountered the three officers that had been working their way down the corridor to flank him.

Bruce nearly ran headlong into the group as they came around the corner, dropping at the last second out of their aim. He rammed the first man, driving him back into the second before twisting to grip the third's gun. He pulled, bringing the officer with him as the man continued holding on to his weapon and Bruce spun him right off his feet and into the two that were still recovering from his initial bull rush. They went down in a tangled heap, but were already struggling to free themselves from one another as soon as they came to a rest.

Rushing a look back at the room he'd just exited, Bruce could see the beams of flashlights cutting through the still smoky room getting closer by the second. He didn't have the time to continue engaging Gordon's men. There were too many anyway. No, it was time to put some distance between him and his hunters.

Bruce bolted for the still open elevator doors

The sound of the gun being cocked seemed to echo as he ran. One of the officers he'd caught by surprise had managed to free himself and draw his sidearm. Instinctively Bruce dropped, sliding along the floor and presenting as small a target as possible. The armed man didn't even bother shouting. He simply opened fire as soon as he had a somewhat clear target. The first round impacted one of the metal doors Bruce was quickly approaching, leaving a cracked and smoking hole in its wake. The second slammed into his shoulder, sending a stab of blinding pain down his right arm and part of his chest as he tumbled through the open doors and fell.

Plummeting backwards, he reached out to grab the cables running down the center of the shaft and felt his right shoulder scream in protest when he tried to clamp down on it. His grip weak from the injury, he managed to slow himself down just enough that the impact with the top of the elevator car wasn't quite as jarring and painful as it could have been.

It still hurt like hell though.

Bruce rolled over, gritting his teeth as he fought off the wave of nausea and tortuous strain in his shoulder and back and half fell, half slid down through the maintenance hatch and into the elevator proper.

"Alfred?" he murmured.

The response from a very concerned sounding butler was nearly instantaneous. "Master Wayne, thank goodness. Is everything alright?"

"I've been better," Bruce groaned as he slowly rose to his feet, leaning slightly against the steel wall. "What was that back there anyway? That was you, right?"

"Oh, that. Yes. I...uh...utilized the Wraith's electronic countermeasures to generate a feedback surge over the police's tactical channel. I would imagine it to have been quite the unpleasant experience, sir."

Bruce checked the hallway outside, only to find it deserted. Likely the tactical teams had left portions of the building empty as they'd cleared them. No reason to leave men behind unnecessarily. Especially when the entire building was surrounded by an army of police. The corridor wouldn't stay quiet for long. Even now he could hear shouts from the rotunda off to his right. He rounded the corner and headed away from the stairway into the darkness.

"Yeah, looked that way," Bruce whispered. "Thanks for the help. I needed it."

"Nonsense. I'm sure you had things well in hand. I merely provided you with an opening."

Bruce grunted. Obviously Alfred was being his usual modest self. It had been quick thinking and even quicker execution on the older man's part. Bruce's own planning hadn't gotten much past grabbing someone as a human shield and either jumping out the nearest window and hoping the snipers were subpar or trying to ease his way back to the elevator shaft or stairway. Neither one was exceptionally inspired and fairly reeked of desperation. He was glad Alfred had acted.

Bruce turned down another side corridor, trying to make his way back towards the front of the building and away from the majority of the police forces within the precinct. "Alfred, I'm gonna need a way out." He grunted again as he jostled his tender shoulder. "Any recommendations?"

There was a long silence on the other end of the line as the man worked quickly, no doubt scanning the blueprints in their database and aerial imagery being supplied by the drone.. "Nothing simple, no," came the eventual reply. "They're scrambling more men into position to firm up the perimeter now that they know you're there. You've stirred up quite the hornet's nest, sir."

"Fantastic."

He glanced around the next dark corner before continuing on. Far off behind him he could still make out the muffled shouts of Bullock and his men, but thankfully they were being forced to move more slowly than he was. Unable to judge with any level of certainty which direction he'd taken upon exiting the elevator they'd be forced to search in every one of them, spreading out and looking through every hall and room in an expanding sweep. Hopefully that delay would buy him some time.

The Tumbler could blast through just about anything they had outside in its way and the auto pilot could have it here in under ten minutes. Granted, that would still be a long time to hide from Bullock and his men and Bruce was hoping for something a little more...low profile. They even had a helicopter already in place that could track the car. Despite the could times he'd successfully eluded the GCPD's helicopters, it was never easy. Still, it payed to be prepared. They could call it plan 'B'.

"Alfred," he whispered, "prep the car. Have it idling near the city limits in case something drastic is necessary." With the crowd outside he'd have most of the city's police force on him should he try and make a dramatic exit.

There was an audible click on the other end of the channel as Alfred confirmed the order, switched the drone above to its preset flight plan, and went about his task of preparing the Batman's hulking vehicle.

Could he disguise himself to get out? The equipment storage for the police station was the opposite direction near the rear of the building and past the teams of searching officers. Was it worth the risk to attempt and slip past them in order to liberate a GCPD uniform? Beyond that he'd also need to haul out the armor and weapons he was currently carrying rather than leave them behind to be discovered.

Of course, Bruce Wayne also had the most recognizable face in Gotham City. Even a helmet and neoprene mask would be no help if he was asked to remove them.

What he needed more than anything was a decoy.

Something to draw attention away so that he could slip out and through their lines. Alfred could bring in the Tumbler and attempt to run and draw them away. Again, high profile and he was hoping to avoid the need to risk losing one of his most unique pieces of equipment so soon after acquiring it...again.

The Wraith? They could bring that low enough so that it could be seen by the crowds. Its sudden appearance would certainly be enough to cause quite the commotion and it could slip away far easier than the car. Trouble was, it wasn't armored. The Wraith was designed for stealth and secrecy, not combat. A few well placed bullets and it could very well fall out of the sky. Yet another thing he needed to avoid.

Bruce racked his brain, moving further down the hallway and closer to the entry hall. There had to be something that wasn't dangerous, but would still be obviously "Batman". Something black or bat-like Something that...

The cape.

The idea hit him out of nowhere. As long as the cape had an electrical current running through it it would be rigid and resemble the distinctive bat wing on which it was based.

It also didn't need to be worn to maintain the shape. It merely required electricity.

Bruce moved more quickly, sticking close to the walls and staying within the deep shadows, but practically running now. Hopefully the portion of the roof above the room in which he'd saved the desk sergeant was still clear. With the amount of air conditioning units and equipment cluttering it, it likely still provided the best cover while he put the plan now forming in his mind into motion.

Skidding quietly to a stop at the next intersection he peeked around the corner. The crowd in the precinct's sprawling foyer should have been something he'd anticipated. It wasn't crawling with cops, but it was close.

Montoya was off to one side standing above the man he'd saved earlier and listening intently while he spoke. The Irish thugs that he'd dealt with were seated against the far wall, their hand behind their backs as they leaned back or on one another. None of them were conscious though, the tranquilizer still having quite the effect despite the glares of the three officers assigned to guard them. Others were going about their duties as well. Some clearing the rubble from the yawning hole where the front entrance doors had once stood while several black clad cops talked casually near the large wooden front desk.

Thankfully the massive skylights that he'd quietly opened to ambush the gunmen earlier were still open. He just needed to get into position to grapple up to the closest one.

Bruce rounded the corner, careful to stay out of sight and crouched behind one of the room's low walls when one uniformed officer kicked the limp foot of one of the bound men, eliciting a chuckle from his companions.

The wall led to one end of the desk that dominated the end of the room facing the destroyed double doors. He could skirt behind that to the far side and remain out of sight of the idle tactical team members. From there he still needed to cover another ten yards or so of relatively open space without being detected.

"Alfred," he whispered, barely audible, "can you tap into the police communications and communicate with them?"

There was a brief pause while his butler concentrated, running back over the drone's capabilities in his head. After another couple seconds he breathed a hesitant, "I...I believe so. Why do you ask, Master Wayne?"

"We're going to let them know that the Batman was seen headed for the eastern emergency exit closest to the main entry," he said. "That ought to by me a little room to operate."

"We are, are we? You know," Alfred began, "deceiving officers of the law was not how I imagined spending my golden years." Bruce could clearly hear the clacking on the keyboard though in the background as the older man grumbled. "You should be grateful that I have such an extensive background in stage craft, sir. Even the densest of officers would surely balk if they were to hear my accent on the radio."

Despite the constant grumbling on his end it wasn't long before many of the men in the room started and stared wide eyed at each other. There was barely any debate at all before almost all of them were racing off down the hallway and leaving only Montoya, the desk sergeant, and two patrol officers watching their unconscious captives.

Bruce released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Thankfully the latter two were taking more time reveling in the plight of the three Irishmen than their surroundings, keeping their backs to his present hiding spot.

That just left the young female detective and the aged sergeant, both of whom he'd recently saved.

Deciding to take a chance, Bruce stood up and walked silently towards the center of the room. About halfway there was when Montoya noticed and gawked. Several strides later and the older man noticed as well, adopting a similar expression. The two merely stayed where they were, one standing and one sitting and stared, stunned, at him, but not making any move to intervene or attempt his capture. He returned their stare before calmly raising his grapple and firing for the skylight, zipping up and out of sight seconds later.

Bruce wasted little time once he'd finally reached the roof, removing his cape and attaching one end of his high tensile cable from the grapple to the center of its leading edge. Soon, he had the power packs and small circuit boards of various pieces of his equipment removed as well, using several wires to secure and connect a power source to the light fabric.

"Alright, I'm in position and ready," Bruce finally announced into his mic. "Bring it down slow and flash the landing lights when you're at two hundred feet."

"Of course, sir."

After close to twenty seconds there was a noticeable whine originating from somewhere above him, growing ever louder as the seconds passed. Occasionally he could glimpse something moving, almost floating, through the darkness. Not the object itself per say, but an amorphous absence of light as the Wraith blocked the illumination coming from the surrounding buildings. The sound would probably be noticeable to the GCPD too. It wasn't deafening and their own sirens and shouted commands would drown most of it out, but they'd certainly hear something curious up above.

Two white lights pulsated twice briefly before blinking out, marking the drone's location for Bruce directly overhead close to a hundred and sixty feet above.

The fired grapple struck and pulled taut as he tested it's hold. Confident the line was secure he reloaded the gun and set it down, connecting the battery contraption to the cape and watching as it instantly snapped into position, forming the glider he'd used so often.

"Almost ready. Remember, give me a low pass to the east and then head off down Fourth Avenue."

"Understood," came Alfred's reply.

Rechecking his equipment and stowing anything left he took one last look at the surrounding buildings and took a final deep breath.

"Go," he said.

The whine grew instantly as the Wraith pulled away in the darkness. Seconds later, the rigid cape was yanked out of his hands and soared into the night sky after it, angling to the left as the drone began a slow turn to the east.

It wasn't long before Bruce could hear shouts from below. Soon after that the spotlight from the helicopter found the gliding form, bathing it in harsh light.

Intermittent gunfire followed almost immediately.

Bruce ran for the northern edge of the building as the cape seemed to glide casually away, firing his grapple at the roof of the nearest adjacent building . Without his cape billowing behind him he presented a far smaller and less obvious target in the sky as he zipped upwards far above the street. Besides, almost everyone had their attention focused on the racket still going on a hundred yards away.

Of course, without his cape he also had no way to control his momentum and smacked his already injured shoulder into the glass face of the tower he was trying to summit. The flash of pain nearly made him loosen his grip, but he simply bared his teeth and waited for it to pass. The winch handled the rest of the work once the discomfort had subsided.

He settled down heavily upon reaching the heights of the twenty story building and watched the still illuminated shape of his glider disappear around a far building and head up Fourth Avenue, the police helicopter trying to keep up as almost a dozen patrol cars peeled away from the assorted vehicles below. .

"Alfred," he sighed, "let me know if you have any trouble shaking pursuit." Bruce paused for a moment. "And let Lucius know I'm going to need another cape. I'm betting that one's going to have a few holes in it."

"Right. I'm sure he'll be overjoyed, sir."

* * *

><p>Selina dropped lightly to the roof, the gravel crunching slightly underfoot and rose, covering the distance quietly to the railing and to the six foot drop to the lower level. The level facing the street.<p>

Just about every cop in the city was gathering for...something. Whatever it was, it had to be big to draw that kind of attention. As it always did, curiosity got the better of her and she'd followed the sound of the screaming sirens to investigate. After all, it might very well be something that could somehow effect her.

Of course, she hadn't been expecting to run into _him_ here. Then again, given his reputation perhaps she _should _have been expecting him. Despite his alleged involvement in the deaths of several police officers and civilians criminals still generally avoided the man on principle. If anything, the knowledge that he'd actually killed made his aura all the more dangerous and mysterious to them. He was no longer a known commodity.

The Batman looked tired. It wasn't any one thing, but there was a slight hunch in his shoulders and a slightly raggedness to his breathing. He was crouched on a duct that protruded from the roof below and wrapped itself close to the building's edge where he squatted, watching the scene below him unfold. She couldn't see much, the majority of his large frame obscured in dark shadow from a nearby billboard, but something about his posture and body language seemed...off. He'd obviously had a tough night and he was missing...something.

The cape was gone. She noticed it when he shifted slightly and realized that she could actually see the back of his shoulders and upper back. Curious. Somehow its absence made him slightly less intimidating, slightly more human. Now he was just a man encased in cutting edge armor. A man who could probably still take on half of the Gotham underworld at once she reminded herself.

Selina lightly hurdled the steel handrail, registering little more than a barely audible thud as she landed gracefully on the ground below.

He didn't move. There was no stiffening of his body or cocking of his head. He merely continued facing forward watching the streets. His lack of response to her stealthy approach was probably why she was surprised when he spoke.

"You shouldn't try and sneak up on me," he rasped, turning his head slightly, but not enough to look back over his shoulder at her. Just enough to acknowledge her presence.

"Well, apparently I'm not," she huffed. Figuring a dramatic entrance was no longer possible she strode over to the still figure, standing several feet to his side and behind him, but where she could watch the scene below. "So...what's going on here?"

"Hostage situation."

Selina blinked. "Really? At a police station? Seriously, are they dumb or just completely crazy?" she snorted.

"Neither." He paused, as though he was considering his words and deciding how much to reveal to her. Eventually he continued, still not looking over at her. "They were there to kill cops."

"Oh." She turned and watched the chaos below. Paramedics were rushing people out on gurneys while others wrapped in blankets were delicately being escorted out by officers. Judging by the Batman's use of the past tense and the clues she could see below the situation seemed to be at an end. It was a guess that was confirmed a moment later when three handcuffed men were led out and unceremoniously shoved into the back of a police van. "Your handiwork?" she guessed.

He didn't answer. Not that she really expected him to.

"Looks like you managed to save the day"

The Batman was quiet for a moment before he responded. "People died," was all he said.

"Please." Selina rolled her eyes and took several steps forward, finally getting him to look up at her as she came into his peripheral vision. "I really don't need to hear the whole _oh woe is me _bit, okay? You did what you could and saved people that might not otherwise be breathing. If not for you, it seems like this whole night would've been a _lot _worse."

He nodded once, but his grim expression didn't waver. While his gaze shifted back to the flashing lights and scurrying figures below Selina took a moment to study his face, shifting downwards. It was the first time she'd really taken the time to really look at him up close.

"You're injured," she said suddenly, tracing the spiderweb of cracks covering most of his shoulder pauldron with her eyes. Something had hit him hard, probably painfully. A bullet?

"I'll be fine," he replied. Standing up he turned away from her slightly, hiding his armor and most of his face from Selina's prying eyes.

She rolled her eyes. "Sure," she scoffed. Typical man. She'd get nowhere by appearing to try and baby him. They both stood there for a time, both silently watching the police. "So, long night?" she finally asked conversationally. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, there was almost zero chance he was going to engage her in some kind of idle banter to pass the time.

He grunted and shifted his stance, finally settling into more neutral position and looking at her from several steps away. It was then, when he finally really stopped and looked at her, that the cowl cocked ever so slightly. She was sure of it. It was an almost unnoticeable movement, but it was there. He was confused...or intrigued by something.

Oh, right.

"You like em?" she said, gesturing to two of the newest additions to her ensemble, a pair of small points built into the top of her hood. "They're not as big as yours, of course. Wouldn't want you getting ear envy or something, right?"

"Ears?"

"Yes, ears," she replied, as though it were plainly obvious. "Catwoman, right? Figured...what the hell, may as well run with it. Wouldn't want you being the only one in this town jumping around on rooftops with some stupid name after all." Selina grinned at him, an expression that did not garner a response. "Check it out," she finally managed, holding up one gloved hand in front of her proudly, fingers spread wide. "Got my nails done too."

After the debacle with Falcone's men she'd decided to heed the Batman's advice. Gotham _wasn't _just any other town. She was coming to see and respect that fact. People here were tougher, meaner than most. More desperate. She'd decided she needed more weapons at her disposal if she was going to play among them in their own backyards and survive.

It wasn't much. Selina hadn't wanted the claws to effect her work or impede the dexterity or traction of her fingers. It meant that the polished titanium blades weren't very big, not much more than slivers at the tips of each finger, but they were _sharp_, glinting in the available light dangerously.

"Claws?" was all the Batman said, his eyes narrowing.

"A girl likes to look her best," she retorted. "At least I'm not prancing around in a cape. Well...not that you are at the moment either I guess." She took in and let out a deep breath and sighed. The man was truly infuriating with his single word sentences and knack for only asking questions. He'd gotten to her with that act the last time. Not again. Time to change course.

Selina smiled lightly at him and strutted past him, coyly drawing a lone finger across part of his chest and shoulder as she passed. "Play your cards straight and be a good boy and I may even scratch your back sometime."

She approached the edge of the roof, standing fearlessly at the edge and putting one foot on the slight parapet and looking down. The entire street almost as far as the eye could see was crowded with police cars and emergency vehicles, they're lights flashing brilliantly. From this height it all looked tiny, the diminutive forms of the personnel scurrying around and inside the building, going about any number of tasks.

"What are you doing here?" the Batman finally asked from behind her. Selina didn't bother turning around.

"Curiosity. Cat. Figured it'd be obvious." She could feel him just silently watching her. As was the usual, the man simply had no sense of humor. "Lots of flashing lights, lots of sirens...I wanted to see what was going on." He took several steps forward, his boots barely audible on the gravel as he came to stand at her side an arm's length away.

There was a small circle of figures below now, maybe as many as two dozen, all wrapped in blankets and being offered drinks by the attentive EMT's. Off to their far left at the shattered entrance to the building another group of six or seven restrained men trudged down the steps, several limping visibly. Selina raised an impressed eyebrow. "You really did all that?" she asked.

He didn't respond, just continued idly watching as she studied his profile. If he'd been watching her he'd have noticed the mischievous grin that spread on her lips a moment later. She strode purposefully over to him, rounding in front of him so he'd have to work to avoid looking at her. Selina wanted to see his eyes for this part.

As expected, he met her gaze measure for measure, staring back at her with a slightly annoyed glint in his eye.

That look shifted into one of confusion when she kissed him, craning her neck up to meet his lips while she clasped her hands innocently behind her back. It wasn't a long kiss, nor passionate, but there was an electric buzz in the air for the brief moment their lips were in contact. In fact, his lips barely even reacted to hers at all, either too caught off guard at her gesture to react or so incredibly in control of his emotions and reactions that he simply refused to respond. Selina couldn't be sure.

"Why?" he asked when she'd pulled away after a couple lengthy seconds, stepping back to settle a comfortable distance from him. His familiar growl had a noticeably different tinge to it, confusion and intrigue lending it a far less raspy, dangerous air.

"Figured someone ought to say thank you," Selina smirked and looked down at the street below, "and it doesn't exactly look like they're going to be lining up to do it anytime soon." She nodded at the assembled officers.

He cocked his head slightly and frowned at her, but it certainly wasn't an expression born of anger. His usually sharp, expressionless eyes contained an out-of-character warmth for a split second before it was gone. After a moment he opened his mouth to respond. When nothing came out immediately, Selina interjected herself quickly.

"Besides, how many women get to say they kissed the Bat? I'm thinking not many based on your charm and sparkling personality." She grinned up at him. "Don't think I go around doing that for every costumed vigilante I meet though. I'm not that kind of girl" When he still didn't react she continued. "By the way, you're welcome," she said slyly, patting him once lightly on the chest opposite his injured shoulder before backing away, but never breaking his eye contact.

Without another word she spun on her heel and walked off, the gravel underfoot crunching as she made her way back to the small wall and railing that she hopped down when she'd arrived. The wall she now scaled, effortlessly jumping up and grabbing hold of the lowest portion of the guardrail before hauling herself up. At the last second she arched her back, twisted, and looked back over her shoulder. The Batman was still standing where he'd been, silently watching her.

Selina smiled brightly and sent him a small salute, saying "See ya around tall, dark, and brooding," before vaulting over the rest of the way and heading off into the night.

* * *

><p>Bruce watched Catwoman's lithe form flip expertly over the railing above her and disappear on the other side. He waited and watched, scanning the rooftop for any further movement or any sign that she wasn't actually gone. He didn't know her well enough, nevermind trust her to the point that spying on him wasn't out of the question. When there was nothing obvious he turned back to look over the edge absently.<p>

"Alfred," he whispered.

"She's gone, sir," came the accented reply, confirming his suspicion.

Bruce nodded to himself. He had purposely left the line open so his faithful butler could listen in once she'd shown up. He always appreciated his friend's insights into things. A trait that had been used to his benefit before in the past. Still, leave it to the clever man to bring the overhead drone's cameras to bear as well. He must have already lost the police pursuit and brought the aerial vehicle back overhead, high enough where it couldn't be seen.

"Follow her."

There might be a strange familiarity between the two of them, but he wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to learn more about her. Especially if that meant discovering who was behind the mask.

"Yes sir," Alfred responded. "Of course. And what will you be doing?"

"I'm going straight to the Grand Marquis."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thus ends the Precinct 17 saga.  
><em>

_This chapter also marks the first official appearance of Catwoman in her full and complete outfit. I wanted to figure out a semi-realistic reason to make a grown woman dress like a cat with claws and everything. Hopefully this works for you all. Let me know though. Does this version of her make sense? Does it fit in the world of the Nolan-verse?_

_We'll be back to rapidly developing the plot in the next chapter. Every now and then though there will be multi-part chapters like the past few that focus on one tension filled event. Not everything is investigation and character interaction in a Batman story after all. _


	22. Chapter 22

_Happy Halloween everyone._

_Sorry for taking a little longer to update than normal. Birthday, life, blah, blah, blah...you don't care. Anyways, sorry and enjoy._

_Please leave a review folks. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets us authors know you care. I wasn't kidding when I said that update frequency is directly proportional to the amount of reviews.  
><em>

_Forever and always I want to take the time to thank all of those who do take the time and energy to leave a review. You know who you are and each and every one of you guys are awesome incarnate. Keep it up._

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The sharp needle-like pain in his shoulder had dulled to a more manageable but still constant ache by the time he reached the roof of 410 Wesley Avenue and settled in. The ornate, southwest corner of the Gotham Grand Marquis rose majestically across the street from him, the intricate scrollwork of the aging concrete awash by carefully hidden accent lights.<p>

Unfortunately the other aches and ailments he was suffering were beginning to voice their complaints now. His lower back and right knee were screaming in protest with every movement because of his inelegant fall and landing down the Precinct 17 elevator shaft. It was already proving difficult to move over the city without his cape, but the addition of his myriad collection of injuries was making it downright torturous.

Bruce had tracked the Catwoman to this building before, back before she or anyone else was even calling her that. The tracker he'd placed on her during their first meeting had led him here, indicating this particular corner of the hotel as her likely destination. For now, it was simply a waiting game while Alfred attempted to shadow her movements from above.

"I'm in position. Are you still on her?"

There was a momentary pause before the familiar accented voice came back over the channel. "I am, sir," he replied. "And may I say that if not for the thermal imaging your new contraption possesses it would be an entirely futile exercise."

"Hard to track?" Bruce asked.

"Impossible is more the word I would use. She moves around the city quite expertly and knows how to hide herself well from prying eyes, despite what she might be wearing."

Bruce allowed himself a momentary smirk at Alfred's quip about the thief's tight, form fitting jumpsuit. Her outfit certainly didn't leave _some _things to the imagination.

"Where is she now?"

"Approaching the intersection of Wesley and Sixteenth Avenue at the moment."

"And is there anything to report?" It had been nearly two hours since they'd met atop the rooftop by the attacked GCPD building. In her uninjured state and without his cape she may very well have been able to beat him here had she come straight back. The fact that she hadn't left him all the more curious.

"She took a rather circuitous route from the police station," Alfred reported, "making stops at several warehouses and one office tower along the way. However, I couldn't detect her doing anything other than watching the properties in question. There seemed to be no other goal in mind."

Bruce nodded to himself, reflecting on the information. "She might be scouting locations," he wondered aloud, more to himself than to anyone listening. It made sense if she was a thief. Still, based on the fact that she'd taken jewels the last time he'd encountered her some warehouses and a corporate building seemed to be odd targets.

"A prudent assumption, sir," came Alfred's reply. "I've taken the liberty of cataloging the locations she visited. I assumed you'd want to mount your own investigation into them?"

Bruce nodded. As much as his curiosity would like nothing better than to be sated he needed to prioritize. "Some other time," he responded. "We're going to have bigger things to worry about after tonight." Try as he might there was no way to place the goings on of the mysterious master thief ahead of other, more important things happening in Gotham that required his attention.

Alfred's voice chimed in a moment later, bringing him back out of his thoughts. "Master Wayne, you should be seeing her shortly."

As promised, mere seconds later a small figure could be seen cartwheeling over the top of a neighboring rooftop, twirling its way over the obstructing ducting and other equipment. If not for the flicker of movement against the generally still backdrop she may very well have been invisible with her dark clothing and the way she stuck mostly to the shadows.

Without missing a beat she snapped out an impossibly long bullwhip as she approached the edge of the building, flicking her wrist expertly and sending it wrapping around some scaffolding that hung over the edge of the roof in front of her. Catwoman jumped, dropping sharply as gravity took hold before the leather snapped taught and carried her on an upward arc into the night sky. She expertly twisted her wrist slightly, freeing the trailing whip from its grip as she hurtled through the air, coming to rest almost daintily on the railing of one of the wrought iron balconies on the side of the Grand Marquis.

"Wasn't it you who said she moved in a rather feline manner?" Bruce didn't miss the amusement in Alfred's voice, choosing to instead remain silent and watch her as she leaped across several more balconies before straightening up at the one that wrapped the large corner room on the floor below the penthouse.

Bruce brought up the monocular to his eye that would also record the magnified view of the distant hotel room. The Wraith had much more powerful camera equipment on-board, but because of its altitude it was better suited to looking down on objects than sideways into a building. Either way, Alfred would be watching the feed as well as it was wirelessly relayed to the cave's servers.

Although the woman had her back to him she'd already pulled back the hood, tossing the red-tinged goggles to the bed casually and exposing extremely short black hair as she bent down to pet a dark gray cat that emerged from somewhere in the room when she closed the balcony doors. She quickly began tossing other items on the bed as well. First the coiled whip, followed soon after by the pouches and eventually the climbing harness.

Focusing on the wall behind her Bruce tried to find a mirror or window that would show a reflection of her face as she removed her equipment, but to no avail. The floor to ceiling mirrors covering the closet doors were on the wrong side of the room to offer him the proper perspective.

He was so consumed with scanning the room that he almost didn't notice when the woman began disrobing, shimmying out of her suit as though it were a second skin, starting with her arms and shoulders and moving down her athletically proportioned upper back.

Despite how necessary it was to watch his targets to gain evidence or information, Bruce hadn't exactly become the Batman to spy on pretty women undressing. He moved the monocle away, back to scanning the room as he awaited his butler's inevitable comment.

The laptop on the nightstand could prove useful he decided, trying his best to remain objective despite what was undoubtedly going on elsewhere in the room. Everything else in the room looked neat and orderly, no doubt cleaned daily by the hotel's staff. It all provided an annoyingly low number of things to look at.

"So," Alfred began conversationally once the scene swept back over the small sitting area for a third time, "not to sound like a dirty old man, but at what point do we check back on the young woman so that we may try and learn her identity?"

Bruce sighed. Alfred was right. Despite his sensibilities about feeling like a voyeur he'd had to watch sensitive and sometimes intimate acts before in his quest to gain information or leverage on people. It was a necessary evil and he needed to keep in mind that it wasn't for some kind of cheap thrills.

Granted, normally it meant fast forwarding through video and simply grabbing a few screen shots though. He wasn't usually watching something like this live.

Scanning back across the fairly roomy accommodations for their target, Bruce was just in time to catch a glimpse of bare skin enter the door that likely led to the suite's bathroom. Now all they could do was continue to wait.

"I'm really not going to get any sleep tonight, am I?" Alfred was never one to suffer silences for extended periods of time.

"Alfred..." Bruce began.

"You know, some of us simply cannot sleep the day away as you do, Master Bruce."

He released a sigh. "Fine. You can have the day off tomorrow then. Just..." Bruce leaned forward slightly, straining to see through the small device. "Hold on a sec."

There was movement from inside the bathroom, a flash of reflection from just inside the doorway before the familiar face of Selina Kyle greeted him as she exited the bathroom, casually dressed in a plush white robe and still drying her hair with the towel she held in one hand.

"Huh."

It was the only word that Bruce could manage at the moment. The only thing that really resonated through his skull besides the nearly incomprehensible fact that Selina Kyle was the enigmatic Catwoman.

"Ever the master of understatement, sir," came Alfred's dry reply.

Reality came flooding back in as he watched her plop down on the bed easily, her cat leaping up to join her on her lap as she turned on the TV.

"And I suppose you saw this coming?" he said, still staring at the almost comically normal scene in front of him save for the various pieces of specialized gear strewn at the bottom of the bed near Selina's feet.

"When I succeed in picking my jaw off the floor I'll let you know, Master Wayne."

Bruce shook his head and watched for another couple of minutes before finally turning to go. As stunning as this revelation might be he'd completed his objective and had already experienced a long enough night as it was. Just when he'd thought things couldn't get any more confusing or complicated too. As though there weren't already too many things that demanded his attention and far too little time to do them in.

He paused and glanced back at the brightly lit windows across the street.

Selina had mentioned that her relationship with Alberto and Thorne before him weren't exactly as normal as one might think. It made him wonder what part her alter ego might have in such dealings and what her ultimate plans were. She had to have a reason for getting close to such rich and powerful men.

That thought stopped him cold as he considered the implications of the time he'd spent with her. Selina had seemed to be honestly pursuing...something...with him before striking a relationship up with Falcone instead. So what exactly did that mean?

She'd also mentioned being in danger and having some kind of commitments and secrets in her life. It was likely he'd discovered a fairly large secret tonight, but for some reason her being a professional, costumed thief wasn't what he thought she'd been referring to. Not entirely anyway. What part of her life did she not want Bruce Wayne to be a part of?

The discovery had only uncovered far, far more questions and still very few answers.

"Alfred?" he asked, heading again for the opposite side 410 Wesley Avenue.

"Yes, sir?"

"Pull Miss Kyle's background and police records? I think it's probably about time we did that." He knew Alfred would be frowning on the other end of the radio at the thinly veiled barb. "And send the car in somewhere quiet. I'm heading home."

* * *

><p>Ramirez hated this time of night. When she pulled the late shifts, as she inevitably seemed to do these days, it always meant walking out into a cold, dark, quiet parking lot in the wee hours of the morning. Her usual office on the far western side of Midtown at least had working lights outside. The subterranean lot of the MCU headquarters was about as under-lit as a fully functioning building could get. It was downright creepy. Even for someone in possession of a .45 caliber semi automatic handgun underneath their jacket.<p>

She'd been brought in over a week earlier following the deaths of two of the Major Crimes Unit's lead detectives to liaise on a temporary basis in an effort to lighten their case load. It was like old times. Almost. Most of the faces and names were different these days. A byproduct of the Joker sweeping through the city and the ongoing gang war that had stretched them all thin. Still, it was nice to see some important work actually come across her desk again.

Gordon didn't know she was there helping out. There was simply no chance of that. He'd have never agreed to let her back anywhere near the mob and freak related cases again. Her betrayal still stung far too deep in the trusting man. It probably meant that the Commissioner was either too preoccupied with bigger issues or had simply missed her name on the memo that almost certainly had crossed his desk.

She was still regarded by many with some amount of wariness too, but the move had also succeeded in generating some good will to finally come her way again. She wouldn't be getting what many saw as an advancement if she wasn't trustworthy. It was a trust she'd put to use fairly quickly by accessing and copying the SIM cards of one Harvey Bullock, Lieutenant and one Ian Riley, Deceased earlier in the evening. Surprisingly, the evidence technician had barely blinked when she approached him and informed him of what she was there to peruse.

The detective pulled her coat tighter around herself, looking both ways into the dark depths of the structure before trudging on to her silently waiting sedan. She'd managed to stay several hours later than she'd meant to, looking over the Poison Ivy case files yet again in her free time for anything that might have been missed. Going home just never seemed appetizing to her these days.

The Batman would probably visit her at her apartment tonight though. As he'd done the last time she'd provided him with evidence. Maybe tomorrow night or the next at the latest. She'd make some coffee and wait up for him. Working the crazy hours she was meant she still wasn't necessarily used to going to sleep when she got home. Despite it being completely dark outside his early morning appearances really didn't disrupt her schedule all that much.

"Working late?"

"Christ." Ramirez jumped and spun, putting her hand over her rapidly beating heart and taking several deep breaths to steady herself. "I am _never _going to get used to that," she gasped under her breath. Suddenly remembering she was in the MCU's secure underground parking lot she twisted to look back over her shoulder, scanning the dimness for any sign of others.

"It's clear," the Batman said, stepping out of the shadows to her right and following her look.

"What are you _doing _here!" she hissed back at him. This was about the worst possible place to be seen in his company. Despite the hour there were still dozens of cops inside as well as coming and going.

"You've got the memory cards I asked you to get."

"Yeah, and you could have come by my place later and..." Ramirez trailed off for a second before voicing the obvious question. "Wait. How...how did you know that?" she asked, her voice still a little shaky from the surprise of his sudden appearance. She began fishing around in the bag she had over her shoulder for the items he'd mentioned while she glared at him.

"The sign-in for the evidence lock-up is electronic." Ramirez stopped what she was doing for a second and glanced up at him, confused. What did the type of sign-in log have to do with anything. After seeing her look the Batman explained further. "You signed in this evening at nine o'clock."

Ramirez's mouth dropped open as the weight of that simple statement hit her. "You...you have access to the GCPD's servers?" He didn't react. "The supposedly _secure_ servers that are in the basement at City Hall?"

The Batman still didn't respond, but her mind was whirring away nonetheless at the implications this new piece of information held. She was far, far from being anything resembling a computer technician, but she knew enough to know that you didn't just waltz in and hack the police mainframes. Hell, if he had access to the logs then that meant he'd have access to every personnel and case file and every crime scene report and evidence...

"You have access to the evidence analysis," she suddenly said, looking back up at him. "Why did you need me to get you these memory cards? Hell, why did you make me get you a sample of Ivy's poison? You can look at everything we've got on them if you have a way into the mainframes. You don't need me risking my ass."

The Batman paused, staring down at her in that piercing, intimidating way he had before answering her. "I have resources they don't have," he said. "I need to look at them myself."

This weird symbiotic relationship she'd initiated with the masked man never ceased to get weirder. The guy was admitting to having technology and information that even the FBI didn't possess. Who could possibly have those kind of resources?

"Right. Because of course you do," was all she said. Anna dug back into her purse as she shook her head in bewilderment. The man was a never ending string of surprises and stunning revelations. Finally locating the small plastic bag she was looking for she handed it over to him. "Hope this helps," she said.

He gave the small package a cursory look before putting it away somewhere on his belt. "Did you look into the third victim?"

"Yeah, Elizabeth Park." Ramirez scrounged around again in her bag again, coming up with a tattered spiral notepad that she flipped through. "From what I could dig up it looks like she may have been paid to look the other way in some inspections. Those fancy new chemical plants Axis has across the river? Yeah, it looks as though those might not be quite as energy efficient and pollution free as we were all led to believe." She looked back up at the Batman. "The paperwork is inconsistent. Obviously some test results were either faked or ignored altogether."

The shadowy vigilante nodded curtly. "Axis Chemicals has a history of shady dealings."

"Yeah," she responded, "paying off an inspector would save them a lot of money rather than face the millions it would cost them in fines and upgrades. It also falls in line with what I uncovered on the first two victims. Obviously it's still thin, but so far the only thread connecting them all is this ecological aspect." Ramirez shrugged. "It's not really much to go on, but everything about this case is circumstantial at best. You get anything from the poison?"

Somewhere there was the distinct squeak and the almost painfully loud clang and click of a metal door closing. The echo seemed deafening in the barren, quiet confines. Ramirez spun, wide eyed, toward the sound as she simultaneously looked for somewhere or something the wanted criminal behind her could use for cover. The structure was empty where she'd parked though, her car being the only obstacle for twenty yards in any direction.

There were footsteps now in the distance, sounding a hollow, clicking rhythm on the bare concrete an growing louder.

"_Shit. _You need to..." the Detective began, turning back to her car as she fished for her keys.

Unsurprisingly the Batman was nowhere to be found.

* * *

><p>It was well past noon when Alfred heard the ancient grinding motor of the elevator descending down to the depths of the cave. Why the young man had decided to keep the rickety old contraption was anybody's guess. Through the construction of the cave he'd certainly demonstrated the ability to replace it with something more convenient and modern if he'd so chosen. Although once probably out of character could it be a bit of nostalgia on his part then? One of the few original pieces of the manor now that the surface portions had been rebuilt.<p>

The two men had moved permanently back into the nearly complete Wayne ancestral home close to two weeks ago. Despite some work still being completed in various portions of the structure it was now largely finished. An almost eerily exact replica of the original in every detail. Both men had seen to that and although he couldn't speak for his employer, Alfred for one was exceedingly pleased to be back home.

Even Bruce seemed to enjoy it in his own way as well.

As was the norm his charge had managed to sleep well past breakfast again today and nearly eclipsed what could be considered a decent lunch time as well. It irked the tirelessly proper butler to no end that his master couldn't keep anything approaching normal hours, but it was based on the effect that had on Alfred's own sleep schedule more than a sense of propriety. He couldn't argue with Bruce's intentions or that his heart wasn't in the right place so he bit his lip and just went about his duties at a more...unconventional time than most.

"Morning, Alfred."

He looked up to see the younger man coming down the narrow walkway past the computer stations to where he was attending to the Batman's various pieces of equipment, dressed casually in jeans and a dark long-sleeved shirt. "In a manner of speaking, sir," he said. Bruce looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes becoming more visible after nights like the one he'd managed the evening before. "Everything alright?"

Bruce nodded absently, his eyes not really focused on anything specific. "I'm okay," he replied. "Just tired." He rubbed his shoulder, the one Alfred knew had to be incredibly sore and tender, and paused for a second, looking out over the cave before murmuring, "Long night."

"It was," he agreed.

The billionaire took a long, deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before finally turning to his old friend, his dark irises focusing sharply. "Did you get the files I asked for?" When Alfred nodded towards the computers behind him he tuned around and made his way back down the catwalk, saying, "Thanks," over his shoulder.

The appropriate files were already saved and tagged on his station's monitors which sprung to life when he settled heavily into his usual chair. Bruce highlighted the indicated records and opened them across several of his monitors, reading silently to himself.

Alfred continued his meticulous work with the suit and other pieces of equipment, stowing them carefully as he finished each one. It wasn't long before his task was complete, the suit repaired and whole again. He closed the steel cage enclosing the objects and made his way back to the operations center.

"So, her name really is Selina Kyle," Bruce mused as the butler approached, "not an alias."

"Yes, sir." Alfred nodded knowingly. He'd taken the time to quickly skim portions of the files he'd collected, his own curiosity getting the better of him. "No parents or family on record so it would seem that her story of coming from an orphaned background was truthful as well."

"Yeah," was all Bruce said "Age twenty-nine, five foot nine and a half, green eyes..." he trailed off after a bit, skipping over much of her physical information. "Plenty of priors here, dating back to when she was eighteen. I'd guess she has a juvenile record somewhere too." Bruce's head cocked to the side as his eyes roamed the old police reports. "Nothing violent though. Shoplifting, trespassing, and breaking and entering mostly, but that's about it." The incident reports were concentrated when she was in her late teens and early twenties, dwindling noticeably as she grew older until disappearing entirely sometime around the time she was turning twenty five. It was a trail that Alfred quickly pointed out to the other man.

"Either she cut back or she just got better," he shrugged. "We know she has considerable skill and she had to get it somehow."

By this time Alfred was standing behind his charge and reading over his shoulder as they both scanned over the various pieces of information.

"Known acquaintances," the seated man continued, reading aloud, "Holly Robinson, deceased. Samuel Bradley, nickname 'Slam'...retired Chicago Police Detective...and that's...it." He cycled through another few pages on the screen before returning, frowning at the lack of information. "No other friends or accomplices listed."

"Some people tend to keep to themselves, sir."

The brief biography of Holly Robinson graced the lower left monitor, displaying the smiling visage of a small, attractive, cheerful looking young blond girl. "Apparently the two women were close," Alfred said, pointing to the background information. "It appears that they co-habitated together for quite some time...and in more than one city."

Bruce enlarged the window that showed the lease agreement displaying both women's signatures and scrolled down through the various bits of information, eventually settling on a brief synopsis of a coroner's report. "Death attributed to a massive drug overdose. Puncture marks consistent with prolonged and repeated use," he read. "The conclusion was that it was self inflicted." The file was blank after those few preliminary findings into the cause of death. "That's weird," Bruce finally said. "No toxicology reports, no results of DNA swabs, no log of personal belongings or other physical evidence..."

"Missing, sir?"

"More likely removed," he said. "Address shows the autopsy was performed in Paris. Probably no way for us to find out what's missing," he grumbled to himself.

"But you think this indicates foul play?"

The younger man paused to think for a second, finally glancing back over his shoulder at Alfred. "Possibly. It could just be a sign of somebody's ineptitude. But, if it was intentionally erased then that's not easy. Someone would have to have a pretty good reason to go to that kind of trouble."

"And do you think that has anything to do with Miss Kyle coming to Gotham?"

"Could be." He flipped back to Selina's files, enlarging several credit card statements. "Considering Selina all but vanished right after Miss Robinson died I'd say it's a possibility. She was obviously doing something during the last year and a half and it _was_her best friend that passed away. If she suspects foul play then that could be enough of a motive."

"She might well have been simply mourning, sir," Alfred pointed out. "Or perhaps, given her profession, her disappearance off the radar was merely coincidence? Stealing from the wrong people _can_have a lasting effect on one's safety."

Bruce stared at the screen thoughtfully before emphatically shaking his head. "She may be a thief, but she has an agenda. I'm sure of it. Thorne and Falcone are more than just marks. She's motivated by something other than just money and thrills for now."

"Not to continue playing the devil's advocate, but can you really be sure of that, sir? Mister Thorne, Mister Falcone..._and_...Mister Wayne. It does make for a rather obvious pattern."

"You didn't see her in that alley, Alfred. Sorrow doesn't begin to cover it. She mentioned losing someone and whoever it was is definitely still affecting her..."

"And you think it's likely this Miss Robinson?"

Bruce looked up at him. "Can you think of anyone more likely?"

"So, do I presume to guess what you'll do next then?"

Bruce shrugged, pushing himself back from the work station as he began to rise. "It'll be hard to get time alone with Selina now that she's with Falcone. But..." He let that word hang in the air for a second before continuing. "Maybe the Batman can find a way to get the information from Catwoman. Now that we know who she is I can track her and hopefully find out what she's up to.

The way he spat the name _Falcone _did not go unnoticed by Alfred.

"And your other pressing commitments?"

Two new shipments of red wigs rested on a small table beside the stacks of humming servers along with the small bag containing the memory cards Ramirez had managed to attain.

His young master glanced at the items and sighed, stretching out his shoulder to loosen what must be achingly sore muscles. Finally he nodded, rubbing the palms of his hands over his tired eyes. "Yeah," he conceded, "you're right...those have to come first." He glanced back at the computer screens where an image of Selina Kyle was still partially visible despite all the other open windows and files. "This just can't be the priority. Not right now."

Alfred nodded his agreement. Despite Bruce's personal feelings, the ongoing murders occurring around Gotham and the lurking threat of Black Mask meant that figuring out the story behind the Catwoman had to take a backseat. Following the bold attack on the Gotham Police Precinct that fact was more true now than ever. Even the police were now firmly in the crosshairs.

"Come on, Alfred. I'm going to be late."

Mister Fox had politely asked that Bruce make an appearance at an acquisitions meeting in the early afternoon. He'd been shirking his duties of late to the company anyway and needed to have people see his face in the building so he'd agreed.

Alfred followed the younger man back towards the old elevator, stopping in front of the bank of computers to activate their power down sequence. A file tree just below Selina's caught his eye, reminding him that there was more being put on the backseat than just Selina Kyle.

The files he'd gathered on Pamela Isley would have to wait as well.

* * *

><p><em>AN: It occurred to me from a recent review that many of you are probably assuming things about me based solely on your own preconceptions and the general make-up of this particular fandom. To relieve these notions I figured I'd tell everyone that..._

_A: I am male (somewhat shocking for this fandom...I know). B: I am older than 25, but younger than 35. C: I am happily married with a 6 month old baby boy. D: No, I am not gay. _

_Alright, I'll just let you all digest that for a bit. _

_On another note, I also wanted to reiterate that first and foremost this is a Batman/Bruce Wayne fic. Yes, there is a romantic angle, but that is a secondary plot and will actually serve to drive the overall story. It's not just a love interest for the sake of giving him a love interest. She will not be in every scene and their developing...whatever it is...will not always be featured. Sadly, there are bigger things at work in Gotham than Bruce Wayne's love life._

_Some people also seemed to want more out of Batman/Catwoman's little kiss in the last chapter. Keep in mind that neither knew the identity of the other at that point and had only met once before for like...5 minutes. Oh, and he surprised her in the middle of a heist and she tried to kick him. Just saying...they're not exactly ready to fall in bed with one another. Gotta give things time folks. _


	23. Chapter 23

_Well folks, I have the unfortunate task of informing you that I, Polyphoenix, have acquired Batman: Arkham City, Battlefield 3, and will shortly be snatching up Call of Duty as well. Other things in my life *Cough* Legend *Cough* may suffer as a result. Know that I am beyond motivated to keep this thing updating frequently and regularly, but also be forewarned as well. That is all._

_Let's see those reviews and make a guy happy. It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets us authors know you care. I wasn't kidding when I said that update frequency is directly proportional to the amount of reviews.  
><em>

_First and foremost, I want to take the time to thank all of those who do take the time and energy to leave a know who you are and each and every one of you guys rule. Keep it up._

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>Abandoning all pretense of being patient Renee moved her heels from where they'd been lounging on top of the desk, dropping them to the floor with a heavy thump and leaning forward, drumming her fingers on the worn desktop.<p>

"Hey, Harv?"

The veteran detective grunted his usual seemingly disinterested response.

Bullock liked interacting with his detectives, preferring to work amongst them rather than stay inside his small, dingy corner office. Despite his well hidden leadership skills he was still somewhat disdainful of the trappings of authority he'd managed to acquire since taking over the MCU. The slovenly detective was slouched in a weathered chair on the opposite side of the desk from Montoya appearing to ignore her, but his eyes rose slightly to look over the top of the report he was reading, settling on her.

"You ever think that _he'd _have to be rich?" she asked. "You know? I mean...that tank alone's gotta be what...half a mil?"

"Yeah, at least," Bullock said, nodding and pushing back the brim of his hat. He let the files drop to the desktop in front of him. "Thought about that too. Way I see it though there's no way one of those pansy asses risks all that to play dress up. What rich boy is dumb enough he's gonna risk the trust fund and the gilded toilets?" He shrugged and shook his head. "Nah, they might bankroll him or something, but I figure that's about it. Guy that knows how to handle himself like that? My money's still on ex-military or special forces. Shit. For all we know there could even be more than one of em."

It made a kind of sense. Why would someone with wealth, privilege, and opportunity take risks like that? Hell, for that matter why would anyone? What could possibly motivate someone to go out every night, knowing that they were the number one target of every criminal in the city _and _the entire police force? It was a bare step up from sheer lunacy.

Then again if they could answer that question they might well figure out who he was. Granted, it was likely just another dead end considering they couldn't even get a decent picture of the man, much less figure out his motivations.

Some motion caught her eye as a uniformed officer entered the gathering of desks and offices set aside for Major Crimes wearing a bored expression and looking around the bustling room before finally settling on someone near Montoya.

"Petit? Hey Petit. Got a message for ya," he shouted, approaching the mustached detective.

"From who?"

"How should I know? I look like your messenger service? Look, it just got dropped off downstairs with the front desk clerk." He thrust the small envelope into Petit's hand and strode off, grumbling about something as he left.

Petit watched him leave before looking down at the small object in his hands, tearing it open without any further fanfare and frowning when he read the plain index card inside. Then he read it again and his brow creased further. "What the hell?" he finally said to no one in particular.

Montoya was only half paying attention to him, more because she was bored than because him being confused was a novel experience.

"What?" It was Fergus, one of the other veteran officers and one of Petit's little tight knit circle of friends and fellow chauvinists.

Petit shrugged, tossing the message to the man while he was joined by another of the group. "Weird puzzle or somethin'. Doesn't make any sense."

Fergus' expression changed too after reading it once, frowning in confusion at the little note. After a second read he passed along. It was the next man that finally read it out loud.

_Possessing millions of eyes though I live in darkness. Bearing millions of ears yet only four lobes. Claiming no muscles, but ruling two hemispheres. Gifted with a stem yet enjoying no blooms. What am I?_

_5.56 FMJ_

_P.S. Sean says hi._

"Well the number is a bullet caliber..."

"And _FMJ _is full metal jacket. Yes, thank you captain obvious. I _was_ a Marine, you know?" Petit replied sarcastically. He snatched back the note from the sheepish looking officer, reading it yet again.

Renee rolled her eyes and looked across the desk at an annoyed looking Bullock who was going back to the file he'd discarded earlier. "And they think I have my head up my ass because I'm a rookie," she remarked. Turning to look back over her shoulder she shouted at the gathered men. "_Hey! Dumbasses!_It's a brain." When she received nothing but blank looks she rolled her eyes again and explained. "Eyes, lobes, hemispheres, brain stem...the answer's a freakin' brain. It's a riddle morons."

As one they all looked back down at the slip of paper in Petit's hands. "Oh."

"Who's Sean?" one of them suddenly asked. "Is...is this some kind of...threat? From Riley?"

That seemed to pique Harvey Bullock's interest, finally putting down the report he'd been doggedly holding in front of him and watching the scene with rapt attention.

Petit just laughed.

"What a fucking lame way to do it," he laughed. He puffed out his chest, brashly pointing his finger at himself. "That jackass wants to make a play at me? Let him. I'm not afraid of his sorry ass."

"Ah, christ..." she heard muttered behind her from her partner. She didn't have to turn around to picture him grimacing and shaking his head in annoyance, his hand massaging his forehead. Petit's macho act never ceased to bug the crap out of the cranky Lieutenant. Ian Riley's shooting was maybe the only time any of them had ever seen the man show a chink in his armor.

By now several other detectives had joined the small group, quite a few of who were laughing at Petit's bravado as he passed the note around, poking fun at the Irish mob boss and what they viewed as a desperate and rather strange attempt at intimidation. For some reason the fact that it had been delivered to the station where he was surrounded by police officers made it all the funnier. Despite the incredibly recent occurrence at Precinct 17 none of them felt particularly threatened. They were downtown and they were in the heart of the MCU and 1 Police Plaza after all.

Montoya couldn't help but reflect that it seemed as though the small mass of men had apparently already forgotten that two desks in the room were sitting empty because of a car bomb.

"Hey, Lieutenant!" Petit was shouting over to the two of them now, still grinning and obviously enjoying his minion's attention. "Any chance we could get a shirt with a bulls-eye on it for me so..."

Petit's body flopped to the ground like a puppet who'd had its strings cut, limply bouncing of the nearest desk with a crack before slumping at the feet of the gathered officers. It wasn't until then that Montoya even registered the small spray of blood on one of the men's shirts and that the body left on the desk it had struck. It wasn't until much later and in hindsight that she even realized she'd heard the crack of the glass as the bullet went through one of the room's windows.

Nobody could ever recall hearing a gunshot.

The reaction was instantaneous, as was to be expected from a room full of trained police officers. Despite the surprise of the assassination everyone was on the floor scrambling for cover seconds after Petit's body hit the ground, shouting warnings and commands in a chaotic overlapping of sound and anger. Bullock, still leaning comfortably back in his chair managed to half fall, half roll out of it, launching himself clumsily to the ground and scrambling for the radio he'd left on the desktop above.

Renee could already hear the whine of sirens nearby and shouts from down on the street as a small army of Gotham police began flooding out of the building and fanning out to secure the block and those nearby.

Petit simply lay where he'd crumpled, blank eyes still open and staring in the Detective's direction, his mouth open with his final sentence left incomplete.

An autopsy on the body would later determine that a 5.56 caliber slug, likely fired from a sound suppressed rifle, entered his brain at the dead center of the detective's head, almost perfectly bisecting the two hemispheres and killing the man instantly.

It was a nigh impossible shot given that even striking the room's half closed blinds could have resulted in the bullet being deflected. It almost shouldn't have been possible. If it hadn't happened right in front of them most of those present would have scoffed at the very notion. The shot punctured the glass, skirted between the wood blinds, and sailed just between the heads of two of Petit's lackeys and past the ear of another before finally contacting its target.

No suspect or substantial evidence was ever found, merely a small green question mark shaped magnet in an otherwise spotless, empty office over a hundred yards away

* * *

><p>"God <em>dammit!"<em>

The uneven jumble of paperwork and files littering the desk went flying, cascading through the air and tumbling slowly to the ground in a flurry as the impulsively swung arm swept part of the desktop clean.

In one of the comfortably cushioned chairs facing it Bullock barely noticed, the act almost garnering no reaction. The Lieutenant looked haggard, the stress and weight of commanding a police unit that had now lost three members without a scrap of evidence to show for it gradually and brutally bearing down on him. Hell, at this point they were all showing it. The Joker may have blanketed the town in fear and chaos, but there was...something about being hunted that chilled them all to the bone.

Commissioner Gordon stood on the other side of the polished wooden desk, his head hung low and eyes closed as he bent over at the waist, his arms supporting his weight on the desk.

The day had been absolute chaos for the both of them. Another dead officer and another hastily assembled investigation that yielded precisely nothing. They were being outright executed. His men, hunted down and killed in the streets like animals. Hell, in their own offices. And they had no response at all and absolutely nothing to show for it. The powerlessness of it all was eating at every one of them.

His outburst was generally out of character for the normally stoic, professional Jim Gordon, but these were anything but normal times. The exhausted, seated detective took it in stride, likely echoing the same sentiments. He was one of the unlucky group that had been witness to the whole incident after all.

Gordon released a tired breath, finally looking up at the weary Lieutenant as he allowed the tension and mounting frustration to drain out of him. They'd been going over the murder since the early afternoon, gradually shifting into a brainstorming session to try and come up with some kind of tactic to tackling this _Riddler._ Eventually they'd have to face the media too. That press conference was something Gordon was definitely _not _looking forward to.

"Thanks for coming down here, Harvey," he sighed. "Go home and get some rest. That's an order. We'll start in on this again tomorrow when we're all rested."

The lumbering policeman rose and shambled out without saying a word or uttering a trademark grunt. More than anything it was his silent dejection that worried the Commissioner. The man was obviously taking this pretty hard. Although he himself didn't particularly enjoy losing men he was at least a bit insulated from things at the moment. He knew the victims...but not as well as their fellow detectives and partners.

Despite his idle thoughts and overburdened brain he didn't miss the suddenly cool draft on the back of his neck as the door to his office banged shut.

"Bill Petit was assassinated today," he said tiredly to his office.

"It was Nigma," came the familiar voice from behind him. That was pretty much what Gordon had figured. Not that there was anything they could do about it or him at the moment. Nevermind the lack of evidence, they hadn't even been able to find the man. There was a long silence punctuated by the blare of a car's horn somewhere on the street below. "There's a price on your head too."

"And?" Gordon scoffed. The Batman didn't move or react behind him. The Commissioner sighed and rubbed his face. "I'm the Police Commissioner of one of the most crime infested cities in America. I'm pretty sure that means being at the top of the list for every two bit thug and criminal out there." He cocked his head to the side, turning it partially towards the man behind him before correcting that statement. "Okay, maybe second on that list."

"This is different."

"Maybe." Gordon nodded. There was no arguing there. He'd certainly lost cops before, but nothing compared with the brutal efficiency he was facing now. This wasn't murder, this was assassination. They were being hunted, plain and simple. He shook his head though, looking down at the desktop. "I'm not going to start running scared though. I haven't in the past and I don't intend to start now. This is my home."

There was silence from behind him, just the unmistakable noise of the city coming through the open window. About the time the Commissioner was about to turn around to see if the masked man had pulled one of his patented disappearing acts he finally spoke. "Alright," he said. "Don't establish any patterns or routines. Take different routes to work and use different cars. Stay on guard and be careful. I'll see what I can do on my end."

"And what're you going to do?"

"Find Sean Riley," he said simply.

"You know those Irish guys don't talk." Gordon shook his head. "Not like the Italians. No matter what you do."

"He'll talk."

The Commissioner didn't bother turning to shut his window. He knew the man was gone, his presence vanishing just like he himself normally did, but he was too exhausted. Instead he reached for the bottle of scotch he'd been sharing with his trusted detective a few minutes earlier.

The night was just getting started for him.

* * *

><p>It wasn't because of her. He kept repeating that in his head, ignoring the phantom voice of Alfred contradicting him. There were other things he was looking into tonight, not just keeping track of Selina Kyle.<p>

At least that's what he was telling himself.

It also helped drown out his conscience that he hadn't been following the two of them all night, merely dropping in on them when his other tasks were completed. No, he'd spent much of the evening leaning on various informants and low level Irish muscle to try and track Sean Riley's location. Like Kazan, he'd disappeared into the Gotham underworld once word of the attacks on the GCPD spread. It wasn't as heinous as the crime the Ukrainian boss had been accused of, but nonetheless, it was stirring up all kinds of trouble and unwanted attention.

Murdering police officers in cold blood tended to have that effect. Bruce would also bet Riley wasn't going to stop anytime soon. It wasn't in his character to

He was also trying to tell himself it was purely coincidence that he'd happened upon Falcone and Selina in the first place. He'd been meaning to stop by Alberto's penthouse to try and observe him and work up a better profile of the man when he had the opportunity. Seeing a person when they're in the privacy of their home tends to provide some great insights into their true character and personality. Of course, he hadn't been expecting to find Selina there.

Unsure if it was a sense of discretion or simply petty jealousy, but he'd avoided watching them as best he could, instead investing his energy into recording the security precautions and any routes of entry he could find. Just in case gaining access to the apartment someday proved necessary.

After thirty minutes though he'd still found none.

Well armed and trained guards patrolling in pairs, overlapping electronic surveillance and detectors, and coded or alarmed entries at every door or window made the entire thing practically a fortress. This wasn't hastily installed either. It'd been in place for months. For someone supposedly above board it was surprisingly elaborate. Then again, he was likely being targeted by the entire Galante family at the moment so a bit of personal security was probably warranted, despite it being a bit...excessive.

Selina's relationship with the man combined with the fact that the Catwoman had been caught attempting entry into the building raised some other interesting questions. With every turn her supposed romance with the young Falcone was appearing less and less genuine. So, what was she after then and how did it link back to Rupert Thorne and whatever her own reasons were for being in Gotham?

A subtle chime went off in his earpiece, repeating its warning every three seconds. Someone was nearby.

Despite the sound amplification equipment built into his cowl and earpieces he didn't in fact hear people trying to sneak up on him. If the volume was high enough to make out nearly silent footsteps on concrete or steel then he'd almost certainly be deafened by the ordinary everyday noises around him.

Thus he'd made it standard practice to place tiny motion detectors in a loose perimeter whenever he knew he'd be stationary for any kind of extended period of time. It was a habit that had proven itself several times in the past in alerting him of possible detection or hostile intent. The easily hidden devices sent him a signal whenever the tiny, invisible infrared beams they projected were broken, as they'd just been.

Bruce shifted his attention back to the occupants of the distant apartment and away from his analysis of the security systems before he went to look for the intruder.

Alberto was alone. He was also looking rather exasperated at the moment, gesturing commandingly as another man Bruce recognized as his assistant entered the room. It was a curious development. He may not have been watching the two, but he'd found himself glancing back occasionally.

So, where was...?

She'd left. He'd been busy watching other things and Selina had gone home and Falcone wasn't happy about it. It was fairly obvious judging by the young man's current attitude and his interactions with his beleaguered assistant that something had happened to irritate him.

And now he had a silent intruder attempting to sneak up on him. Could it be...

"I know you're there," he said, not bothering to turn around. It was a calculated guess, but one he felt comfortable enough making.

"_Seriously_," a familiar voice huffed. "One of these days you're going to have to teach me that trick." There was a crunch as she landed somewhere behind him, followed by the muted sounds of her soft soled boots walking across the concrete. He felt her come up to his side, could feel her eyes on him before she turned her attention to what he was watching. "So, spying...?" Catwoman asked, arching an eyebrow in question. "Would have thought all this voyeuristic stuff was beneath you." She watched Falcone for another few seconds before remarking, "Doesn't look happy, does he?"

"I'm curious why?" he said, directing an unforgiving stare at her. Time to play one of his wild cards. Time to let her know that he was aware of some of her secrets, including her identity.

She frowned and cocked her head in confusion. "Why would I...?" Selina trailed off for a second as her head turned to follow his eyes back towards the adjacent building and then back to herself. That's when her entire body went rigid. If she didn't have her goggles over her eyes Bruce was certain they'd be as large as saucers too. "Oh hell! You followed me home!" she cried, her jaw dropping as she stared back at him. She groaned, pacing away from him. "Of _course_ you followed me home. So much for a code of conduct amongst thieves...and...umm...whatever you are. _God!"_She flung her hands up into the air. "You really are an asshole. You know that?"

Bruce didn't react.

She continued venting, pacing slightly as she did so. "_Asshole_," she muttered again. The Catwoman glared at him for a few more moments before finally pushing her goggles up on her forehead, revealing her full face and captivating green eyes before holding out her hand in greeting, a tight humorless smile on her face. "Selina Kyle," she said, her voice laced with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "Nice to formally meet you."

Bruce just stared at her out of the corner of his eye. Of course it came across as downright aloof and unapproachable to her, but truthfully he had no idea how to react. Shaking hands and generally acceptable forms of greeting weren't exactly in character for the Batman.

"How'd I know you were gonna be this way?" she huffed, dropping her outstretched hand. "I showed you mine. I don't suppose you're gonna show me yours though, are you?"

"You didn't tell me who you are," Bruce pointed out, still backpedaling. He'd been expecting a bit more outwardly directed anger and defensiveness. Emotions he could use to his advantage as well as ones he was much better equipped to handle when he was his alter ego than whatever she was exhibiting now. She was adjusting quickly though.

"That's _right. _No, no I didn't," she replied petulantly. He saw her close her eyes and sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. "_Well_? Did you at least like the show? You know, get a good eyeful and all?"

Bruce blinked. The playful Selina was back, the one that exhilarated him when he was Bruce and threw him completely off balance as the Batman. At the moment he was thankful it was dark and that he was covered almost head to toe in armor, kevlar, and composites. Otherwise she might have noticed him blushing. That was something the Batman wasn't exactly supposed to do either.

Time to change the subject and attempt to regain control of the conversation.

"How'd you know I was here?" he asked, turning to finally face her fully and trying his best to give her an even, expressionless stare.

Selina smirked back at him, waving a finger back and forth. "Ah, ah, ah. A girl has to have her secrets. Besides...tit for tat, right?"

He ignored her, instead moving on to another subject. "What's your interest in Falcone?" he asked.

"What's _your _interest in Falcone?" She smiled that clever, mischievous grin up at him, standing firm under his glare with her arms still crossed.

Bruce watched her for a moment, judging that she wouldn't be budging. Not after he'd dropped the bombshell of her true identity. She was trying to maintain control of things just as much as he was. Fine. She could have this one, he had other cards he could play.

"Previous experience. He comes from a dangerous family," he finally admitted. "A family that's had a long and terrible history with this city. He's _not_going to continue that trend."

"Alberto?" she scoffed, arching an eyebrow. "He's a bore and has a bit of an inflated ego, but criminal mastermind? Hardly."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "And the security and guards?"

"Paranoia," she dismissed offhandedly. "He's just being overly cautious about the whole Sabatino thing. Let's face it, he's not exactly hiding himself behind a mask now is he?"

"Then he's really trying to help Gotham?"

"You're asking me if he's altruistic?" She suppressed a small laugh at that, smirking up at Bruce. "Nah. If you ask me it was all just a business decision...and a chance to stick it to his old man. The Roman didn't exactly have a soft spot for little Alberto. Why do you think he's spent most of his life in European boarding schools?" Selina tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I suppose the poor kid was bound to end up with _some_ daddy issues. He probably thinks that getting hold of his father's belongings would tick the man off."

"Then you and him..."

"It's nothing." She waved it off lightly, but her eyes had hardened somewhat. "Don't get me wrong, nothing against the man, but me and him...strictly professional."

Was it wrong that his spirit lifted a little at that confirmation? Despite what he'd deduced it was still a nice ego boost to know he hadn't been simply discarded for another man. "And he sees it that way too?"

"Well..." she drawled out the word, looking a tiny bit chagrined. "Maybe not...exactly. Kind of defeats the purpose."

"He has something you want and you're planning on taking it." It wasn't a question. He already suspected that's what this whole thing was. Ever since he'd discovered her identity and realized it had been her in Thorne's office and then her again that was almost caught breaking into Alberto's home. It was the only thing that seemed to make sense.

"Guilty," she replied unapologetically, shrugging. "I _am_ a thief after all."

Bruce had told Alfred that Alberto wasn't a simple mark. That there was more to her getting close to him than simple jewels or money. That there was a deeper purpose to what she was doing. An agenda. To hear her talk about it so flippantly though she could very well be simply lifting his wallet.

"That's it?"

Selina shrugged again. "What else is there?"

"You _know _the Falcone family's reputation." Selina nodded but also rolled her eyes at him, likely knowing where he was going. "They don't have a history of being especially forgiving." He turned his head back to the distant penthouse and where the figure of Alberto had finally seemed to settle down. "No matter what the man claims to be, its in his blood. Why risk it?"

Selina shook her head in annoyance. "Haven't I heard this before?" she asked. "I mean I'm getting some serious deja vu here. I could have _sworn _you gave me some dire warning about the Thorne family too and yet here I am, alive and kicking."

"I'm serious."

"Of course you are. You're _always_ serious." She glared at him good-naturedly a second before sidling up in front of him, stopping mere inches away. Bruce thought he could even detect the slight scent that was instantly so purely Selina. Why he hadn't noticed that before in any of his other meetings with Catwoman he didn't know. "I'll say again what I already told you once before. I'm a big girl that can take care of herself." She tapped the breastplate of his armor with one of her clawed fingers as though making the point, drawing it slowly along the contours of the armor. "You're sweet," she said, not bothering to look up at him as she continued moving her finger. "Well...no...not really, but it's nice to know you care." She finally looked up, meeting his gaze squarely. "I'll. Be. Fine."

"Falcone isn't Thorne," Bruce warned one last time.

She looked down at her fingertips still splayed against the armor's breastplate, responding in a tiny voice. "I know."

"What are you after?" he finally asked. No more beating around the bush. Bruce was tired of it, tired of the unknown. After all, it _was _the question he ultimately wanted answered. He also suspected that it was likely the last one she'd be willing to be straight with him about and he wasn't exactly ready to dangle her off a roof to get his answers. Yet.

She smirked at him, batting her eyelashes playfully. "Now, now, now...what fun would that be?" Her other hand joined the first on his chest, patting lightly. "I can't be a completely open book," she said. "Otherwise, what would keep you coming back for more?" .

"Like Bruce Wayne?"

That surprised her. She froze, her mouth half open as though she'd been about to say something else entirely and instead been slapped, before stepping back away from him. The rest of her face displayed none of her normal levity or characteristic smirk. Even the twinkle in her eye had been replaced with a cold seriousness. "How do you..." She trailed off, her mouth opening and closing several times. "Leave him out of this," she warned, her voice low. As if realizing the state of her tone and posture she took a breath and smiled, trying to regain some of her humor and attempting to appear indifferent. "He is...he _was_...fun. He bought me some shiny things until I found something more interesting in Alberto." She waved her hand, as though dismissing the entire notion of Bruce Wayne. "I'm...I'm not after anything of his, so don't bother."

He'd caught her in a lie. He'd never given Selina Kyle any gifts and certainly nothing expensive enough to make a thief of her caliber stick around. She was distancing himself from him then, trying to purposefully keep him off of the Batman's radar.

Bruce almost smiled. Almost.

Instead he nodded, watching Selina as she refused to make eye contact. Normally she was probably an expert at deception and lying. It was a very necessary part of the job at which she was so talented. Right now though, caught off guard and reeling she was obviously giving away clues she wouldn't otherwise. She covered it up well though, plastering the devil-may-care attitude on seemingly at will. It was something he could appreciate, the ability to hide a part of yourself from prying eyes. God knows he'd been doing it for several years now.

At the moment though that didn't help him. Her mask effectively hid any insights into what exactly she was after or why she was after it. The downside of throwing her off guard as he'd done also had the effect of slamming shut any chance of doing it again. She'd be defensive now and much more careful. Bringing up her past or Holly Robinson in an effort to fish for more information would have to wait until some other time. At the moment she'd be much too tight lipped to offer anything worthwhile.

He also didn't know what to say next, watching as she turned her back to him to look at the blazing light coming from Alberto Falcone's penthouse.

The Batman was, by design, short, direct, and to the point. Being overly talkative might result in him saying something or revealing something that somebody could use against him or others. It was as much a defensive tactic as disguising his voice. Anything it took to hide his true identity. It also meant he wasn't about to comfort or apologize to the woman. Not as the Batman anyway.

Of course, that didn't mean he didn't want to. He wanted to see that spark in her eye again and that coy little smile, disliking the fact that he'd extinguished both.

Thankfully she broke the silence, saying something again about being a big girl and having little need for his concern.

At least, he thought that's what she said. He overheard a portion of it as he slipped away, noiselessly taking flight into the night and leaving her ignorantly alone on the deserted rooftop.

The Batman also didn't say goodbye.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I know, I know...no Batman/Catwoman bow chica wow wow. Sue me. He's Batman, he doesn't do emo. Hence why Selina and Bruce have grown considerably closer in their brief time together. Thoughts?_


	24. Chapter 24

_I'm trying...I really am. Call of Duty is, as always, an absolute time suck. Somehow managed an update though. _

_So, who wants to help Legend crack 100 reviews? It only takes a second – and it really, really makes a difference and lets us authors know you care. I wasn't kidding when I said that update frequency is directly proportional to the amount of reviews.  
><em>

_First and foremost, I want to take the time to thank all of those who do take the time and energy to leave a know who you are and each and every one of you guys rule. Keep it up. I also want to add a thank you for those who Alert or Favorite this story. It lets me know you appreciate this as well. Thank you.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The eyes moving beneath the still closed eyelids were the first indication that wakefulness was returning. Soon thereafter they fluttered open, taking a long moment to adjust to the relative darkness and clear the still present haze of the tranquilizer. What followed next was almost comical.<p>

Upon realizing his predicament the figure's eyes ballooned, darting all over the place as his arms began windmilling instinctively in panic upon seeing the water of Gotham Harbor nearly two hundred and ten feet beneath him. That just made him begin to rock, swaying slightly from the line he was dangling from as his vocal chords finally seemed to remember how to function.

Most men possess at least a small phobia of heights, it being one of the most common fears that human beings experience. Being restrained and lacking any kind of control of the situation in combination with hanging from a large height often proved downright terrifying. The current object of Bruce's attention also happened to lack a certain ability to swim. That little tidbit hinted at another visceral fear the man would have. Hence the choice to dangle him from the underside of the Sheal Bridge that connected West Harlow with the mainland.

Sean Riley would be much more inclined to have a truthful conversation with him if he happened to get a little wet in the process.

Bruce had been lucky tonight. Finding Sean's Consigliere and chief adviser was a complete accident, stumbling upon him after he'd left Selina and returned to West Harlow. So distracted was he by the whole encounter with the Catwoman that he almost managed to overlook the diminutive, balding man when he'd exited a Cook Avenue eatery along with a small entourage. Despite his meticulous planning and the exhaustive methods he often underwent, sometimes simple blind luck managed to provide the breaks that he needed.

Riley's chief adviser wasn't a hardened criminal like many in his inner circle and as such was at the top of Bruce's list because he was confident that he could get both valuable and reliable information out of the man. Unsurprisingly he broke in record time, providing Bruce with intel that ensured that Riley was in his possession within another two hours, snatching him from right under the noses of several of his trusted protectors.

Following the initial surge of panic the skinny Irishman began desperately looking around, taking in the maze of steel trusses above him, the swirling, frigid waters below, and the twinkling city lights all around. It wasn't until his eyes adjusted completely that he finally noticed the patiently waiting Batman crouched on one of the bridges support struts at his eye level, only a couple feet away.

"Shit," he groaned, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Bruce figured he was probably trying to rid himself of some of the cobwebs that muddled his thoughts, an after effect of the dart he'd been shot with. "I got nothin' to fucking say to you," he hissed, eyes narrowing in defiance. He wasn't exhibiting any outward signs of being frightened by Bruce's appearance though the situation he found himself in was probably twisting his resolve a bit. His level of fear would easily change though. "You think threatening me with a little drop's going to..."

Without saying a word Bruce released the tension on the cable.

The man's scream faded into the night as he plummeted away, stopping jarringly only a few inches from the roughly churning water, the spray dampening his face.

Bruce had carefully measured the distances before the mob boss had regained consciousness. Even into water a head first drop over two hundred feet like this would have...messy results. He'd stop him before he ever actually impacted the water. That didn't mean the man wasn't going to get wet though. Without further fanfare he released more tension, dunking the man's head and shoulders into the freezing harbor.

He only left him that way for a second or two before activating the high speed winch and bringing him hurtling back to his level in seconds, wet and sputtering.

"_Nigma!_" Bruce growled.

"Wha-what?" Riley was clearly still too shaken and confused to be paying attention. Bruce's words probably weren't even penetrating his panic. He dropped him again anyway, dipping him briefly as before and again winding him back up.

"I _want _the Riddler!"

"_Fuck. You_," the suspended man glowered right back. Bruce hadn't really expected it to work already. The man was predictably tougher than his adviser. Unsurprisingly he went diving back down to the cold waters of the harbor. Rather than the quick dunk though, he stayed submerged for a little while this time. He'd let the man's own feeling of drowning work for him.

"Please...please," Riley stuttered, water dripping off his tangled mass of hair when he came back up. The drop, the water, and the temperature were already plainly beginning to take their toll. "I don't know..."

Bruce grabbed his hair with his free hand, forcing the upside down Irishman to look at him. "How do you contact him?" he asked menacingly.

"Go...go to hell." There was little force behind the words, his resolve faltering. The bottom dropped out of his world again. This time Bruce left him underwater for a good twenty seconds before reeling him back up. He was still half choking on swallowed sea water when he arrived back at the steel supports.

Riley shook his head when he rose back up in front of the Batman, not waiting for Bruce to ask his question again. "No...no...please...can't..." he pleaded.

"How?"

When he received no immediate answer he grabbed the line to drop him again, prompting the soaking and shivering man to hold up his hands frantically.

"Call him! We call him!" he screamed. "He gave us a phone number."

"What is it?" He'd have Alfred start working on a way to trace it as soon as he was done here. Undoubtedly, it would be tough though. Nigma was smart, probably using encryption and other methods to avoid being tracked. Maybe he'd bring Lucius in on this too. Bruce jiggled the rope warningly when his prisoner paused.

"Phone! Phone! It's in my phone."

Bruce had searched the crime boss when he'd first abducted him, pocketing anything that could prove useful. A popular, commercially available cell phone was one of the first items he'd taken, keeping the memory card and disposing of the phone itself. Beyond Nigma, it could possibly provide valuable information about multiple aspects of Riley's organization.

Riley closed his eyes and sighed. The powerlessness was steadily taking hold, draining the man completely of his resolve. "Under Nashton. Edward Nashton."

"Who's his next target?"

The older man looked confused for a minute, an expression that was hard to get a read on with him hanging as he was. Bruce grabbing his shirt front helped refocus him. "We...we don't pick his targets," he managed. "He sorta...does his own thing. It's how he works."

Bruce left him underwater for nearly twenty seconds again this time. It took Riley close to a minute of coughing and spitting before he could regain his composure enough to answer questions again.

"You know something," Bruce growled, bringing his face in close.

"Please...please. He'll kill me." When he was jolted a couple feet his panic was palpable. "Alright! Alright!" he cried. "It's...he said something about the Commissioner. He wanted to go right to the top, but I asked him to wait until later. So...so, he said he had another option."

"Who?" Bruce threatened the dangling figure with another lengthy soak, shaking the line he was hanging from violently.

"I don't know! Some chick detective I think. Pretty thing...looked latin or something. I don't know her name though. It's just another one of those MCU cops. I swear!"

Bruce dropped him again, watching the small splash and the strong currents attempting to carry the partially submerged human along with them. He left the mobster in the harbor for over thirty seconds this time, watching and waiting until his lower body and the line began thrashing as he panicked.

"What the hell?" he sputtered, shivering violently as the chill night wind made his soaked clothing even colder. "I..I told you what you...you wanted to know."

Bruce leaned in again, daring him to look away or break eye contact. "You're going to go to Gordon and tell him everything. This. Ends. _Now_. If you don't, the next time you go in the harbor I won't be pulling you back out."

He didn't even have the chance to nod before Bruce was securing the line to the steel beam next to him, leaving him to dangle and sway above the turbulent waters.

"_Hey! Wait! You can't just..."_

The rushing wind drowned out the rest of the desperate man's words as the Batman dove away, pulling up over the water and gaining altitude, heading south.

He'd place an anonymous call to the police regarding where they could find Sean Riley. They might not have the evidence to indict him, but hopefully when they found him under the bridge he'd be terrified enough to provide them with everything they needed. Bruce was hoping that the fear of the Batman would outweigh his anger over his son's death. It was a gamble, but one of the only plays he had at the moment.

Whether he went to the police or not though the killings weren't going to stop. Nigma was following the orders of someone far more dangerous than some street thug that'd somehow managed to amass a mini empire. The convenient scapegoat of Riley killing cops would be gone, but Black Mask wouldn't let that stop him.

Thankfully he finally had some leads on Nigma. Hopefully that might also help lead him to the enigmatic figure pulling the strings too. Bruce needed to get Alfred started on the phone number.

He also needed to find and warn Gordon and Detective Renee Montoya.

* * *

><p>What a piss poor night to be outside.<p>

Harvey hunched his shoulders as best he could, burying himself into his well worn overcoat as he tried to brace himself against the stinging, wind driven rain.

How the rain was managing to reach him and his team underneath a bridge was anyone's guess. They were near enough to the edge of the span that it didn't need to be coming in horizontal, but it certainly helped that it was pretty close.

Another of Gotham's characteristic early winter storms had blown in, traveling south down the coast and leaving flooding and power outages in its wake. The forecast called for it to stick around for another two or three days, worsening sometime the following evening. Bullock grimaced as his hat was almost blown off his head again by an especially strong gust. Soon it would be even colder and he could expect to start seeing snow too, making things all the more miserable.

It went without saying that the Lieutenant hated this. The catwalk they were huddled on was suspended hundreds of feet over the angrily churning sea water and slick and cold from the ongoing deluge. The vertigo alone was driving him steadily over the edge, driving his already healthy amount of annoyance straight into outright anger and petulance.

The GCPD switchboard had received a call earlier in the evening, before the downpour began. The anonymous caller had told them where they could find Sean Riley. Alive.

The body that was hanging upside down from one of the bridge's support struts might be many things, but alive was definitely _not _one of them. Hell, the damn thing looked like swiss cheese. The man had been downright riddled with weapons fire, resembling a torn scrap of paper that had been used as target practice as it slowly and morbidly swayed in the stronger gusts. The forensics examiner was still working, but he'd estimated perhaps two dozen rounds at the minimum. How that had happened was yet another mystery. The catwalk was securely fastened when they'd arrived, necessitating a call to County Services to get someone down to unlock it for them. Apparently they took suicide prevention or some such bullshit seriously at City Hall.

Harvey figured if someone really wanted to off themselves they'd still just jump off the upper part of the bridge where the roadbed went overhead.

That left the closest shore as a possible origin point for the shots. Two hundred yards away. Not an impossible shot, but not easy for two dozen shots. Of course, Bullock wasn't even going to start trying to figure out how the body even got under this bridge in the first place. Somebody would have had to be able to damn near fly.

So, another mob boss met his bitter end. Harvey grunted. No small loss, especially considering the lives he'd been responsible for taking lately. Nobody in the GCPD would mourn his passing. Hell, some of them would probably be ready to give whoever was responsible a freakin' medal. Maybe buy the son of a bitch a drink. This was the animal that had killed quite a few cops, likely including Carl and Chris...possibly even Petit.

The Lieutenant stared tiredly at the distant, white capped water below. His job wasn't to turn a blind eye though. A murdering bastard he may have been, but he was still a homicide victim nonetheless. Still, the man didn't deserve the overtime he'd normally be pulling in such a case. No, he'd go home and raise a celebratory drink to his avenged comrades.

Then he'd get back to work tomorrow morning.

* * *

><p>"<em>And it's going down tonight?"<em>

The voice was Harvey Bullock's and it was clearly somewhere between annoyed and angry at the late warning from his informant. He undoubtedly knew the tightrope he was about to have to walk in order to gather the logistics necessary for such an operation.

"_That's what I said, tonight. At that steak joint on Fleeting, between Third and Fourth Street."_

"_And Ian's going to be there?" _Bullock asked.

"_How many times I gonna have to go through this? Fuck. Yes, Riley's going to be there and I'm sure he'll have a bunch of his boys with him. No, I don't know how many. My ass is already out on a limb far enough as it is without trying to find out any more particulars. You want more? You can just kiss my ass." _

Bullock could be heard grunting on the recording. Seconds later, after another couple of repetitive questions the gruff police officer abruptly hung up the phone, likely to get the wheels in motion for the operation that would eventually cost Ian his life.

Bruce stopped the recording, resetting it to listen to it again while the scrubbers worked on isolating and categorizing any ambient noises. Ramirez had been thorough enough to include a recording Harvey had made of the call he received from his confidential informant. Ever the responsible detective, the Lieutenant apparently made it standard operating procedure to log his conversations.

The voice on the other end of the line certainly didn't _sound_ like Edward Nigma's, but Bruce was under no illusions that the professional assassin wouldn't know how to disguise his identity. Hell, since their impromptu meeting in the back alley of a pub he'd all but disappeared. A fact that was fairly impressive given the fact that both he _and _the entire GCPD were on his trail.

The memory chip from Ian Riley's phone didn't contain any audio so he was working strictly with the call log from it, using the massive computing power at his disposal to backtrack the signal embedded in both phone's SIM cards. Hopefully, he'd be able to prove his theory that both calls originated from the same source. Considering he also had a voice recording from one of the calls he was also hoping to prove the caller in both cases was _the Riddler_.

Of course if any of that didn't pan out then he'd be back to square one with almost no evidence or theories. Although optimistic Bruce couldn't help the sense of doubt that dragged at the periphery. Sean Riley was dead, murdered sometime between the time he'd left and the police had arrived. Why _the Riddler _hadn't taken a shot at him was gnawing at him. Maybe he wasn't in position yet or perhaps he had something else planned for the Batman. Either way, he needed to be more careful.

He...they needed this evidence to work out. It would be the first solid indication anyone had that pointed to Nigma being involved in all that had transpired. They'd finally have a direction that could lead to shutting things down.

Despite the death of the Irish crime lord Bruce had no illusions about whether or not the assassinations directed at police officers would continue. Nigma was definitely not serving the Irish now. Probably never was. Could it be that Black Mask was going to make his first overt move now?

The call to Riley's phone had been easy to trace. Perhaps confident in the fact that they wouldn't be scrutinizing the man's call history too much he'd used an unblocked number. Backtracking through the multiple cell towers the call had bounced between was simple from there, placing the person making the call in a one hundred yard radius somewhere around Cobblers Drive.

The restaurant where the meeting and raid occurred was also well within that radius. That was at least a good sign.

Bullock's phone was a bit tougher. Possibly because of an ingrained wariness of dealing with the police the caller had used a blocked and encrypted phone. He'd even managed to bounce the signal off a Russian communications satellite. At the moment the cave's computers were aggressively negotiating access into the satellite's mainframe. It wasn't a particularly advanced system. Hopefully the giant processors would break through in another few minutes and finish the trace.

In the meantime...

Bruce went back to the task at hand. As the computer sifted through the artificial constructions in the recording he was keying up the voiceprint he'd made the night he'd had his run in with the unkempt hitman. He entered the proper commands and had the routines running in no time, analyzing the two recordings for similarities.

That left only one other bit of evidence to pursue. The contact list highlighting one Edward Nashton was open on the lower left monitor in front of him. It was the contact information he'd gotten from the elder Riley's phone. Bruce had been ignoring it until now, focusing on the other tasks at hand. Now that those were either completed or processing he finally had the time to contemplate it.

Nigma would likely be using a cellular phone and Bruce would likely be unable to trace the signal. However, he wouldn't know the methods the man used unless he tested them. At the very least it might provide him with something...a sound byte or tidbit of information he wouldn't otherwise have.

Impulsively he brought up the dialing feature

"Sir?" Alfred was watching him from the door to the infirmary. Even though it was at a lower level he had an unobstructed view of Bruce's screens.

"I'm calling the number, Alfred. I know we agreed to get Lucius working on a way to track it, but I have a theory."

The older man frowned and stopped what he was doing, straightening up. "Rather rash, don't you think?" he asked. "Won't he simply discard the phone once he knows you have the number?"

"Actually, I don't think he will. This is all some sort of game to Nigma."

"So, you'll be appealing to his sense of playfulness then?" The older man didn't seem particularly enthused with the tactic.

Bruce smiled. "His hubris actually." When Alfred continued frowning he continued. "Think about it. If this is all a game, then I think he'll revel in the opportunity to gloat at the ineptitude of his opponents. I bet he wants the attention. He wants the recognition."

His friend nodded, but his expression didn't change. "I believe I follow, sir. Still, isn't this a rather...drastic move on your part?"

"He's killing cops, Alfred. Hell, he probably killed Riley. We can't afford to wait." Bruce paused. "Besides, I think he sees me as an equal...or as a sort of challenge. Either way, I'm betting he _wants _to interact...assuming he thinks things are secure."

Alfred sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing his temple. "If you're certain..."

Bruce nodded, already tapping the auto-dial feature and entering the number. He only had to wait one ring before it was answered, but strangely there was only silence on the other end of the line.

"Nigma," Bruce said, not bothering to form it as a question. His gruffly disguised voice sounded strange to his unhindered ears. Normally he'd only be doing this while wearing the suit and cowl.

Bruce could almost hear the grin through the receiver, the voice of Edward Nigma boomed out of the control center's speakers, echoing off the bare stone walls. The man should have sounded surprised or startled at having his opponent on the private line he shared with Riley. There was no hesitation or scramble to regain his composure though. Rather, he seemed to be expecting it.

"_Well, well...what a pleasant surprise," he said, "I wasn't sure you'd call. Have to say, I'm impressed, detective. Wasn't holding out much hope that you'd still manage to track me down, but going after Sean like that certainly proved more effective than even I expected. I may not be especially enamored with my employer, but I did give him credit for having a reputation for...discretion. I suppose I'll have to reconsider my appraisal of the man."_

"I can be persuasive."

Nigma chuckled. "_Of that I have no doubt. I'll confess, I would have liked to have seen that." _

The computers were whirring away busily. Already the signal had bounced back across the Atlantic between Madrid, Casablanca, and a satellite orbiting somewhere over the Middle East. It was probably a futile exercise, but if he could learn even one thing it would be worth it.

"_I assume you know the futility of tracing this call?" _The gangly man's mirth was unmistakable. He was obviously enjoying the game of cat and mouse, secure in the knowledge that he was more than safely hidden away. Apparently he had some kind of advanced equipment on his end as well because after another second he sighed, muttering "Fine, d_on't say I didn't warn you." _before continuing on cheerfully.

"_So, Batman, I assume this isn't a social call?"_

Bruce leaned back in his chair, watching the undulating voice modulator waver on the screen. "You're murdering police officers," he said bluntly.

The poorly feigned shock was obvious, even over a phone line. "_Me? And why would I want to do that?" _False confusion quickly transformed into false thoughtfulness. "_I've been reading about that though_," he said. "_So unfortunate. Truly...a genuine tragedy. I mean, who could bring themselves to hurt the protectors of this fair city, right?" _Nigma took a deep breath, probably taking a drag on one of the foul cigarettes he preferred. "_On a side note, I also expected better of you. Trying to get a man to admit his culpability over a simple phone call? Come on, be honest...did you really expect that to work?"_

Bruce ignored the playful jab. He'd wondered just how careful the man would be. He'd experienced plenty that would boast of their accomplishments at the slightest prodding. Apparently he wasn't one of them. At least not directly. "I know you're next target," he said.

"_And I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," _Nigma practically giggled. There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone before the man's inquisitive nature got the best of him. "_Hypothetically speaking? Even if you do...and I seriously doubt that...do you really think you'll be able to stop me?" _

Bruce didn't respond for a moment. Of course he thought he could...or at least was going to try. Still, this wasn't pertinent to why he'd made the call in the first place. "Why do this?" he simply asked.

"_Ah, an obvious question I suppose. Tell me, Batman, what is the enemy of active minds like ours? Hmm? What is their greatest waste?" _He didn't wait long to continue, likely becoming accustomed to the rather one sided conversations. "_Repetition and boredom. What happens when your profession no longer challenges you, no longer fulfills your need to experience new things and tackle new problems? Stimulation is essential."_

"Not finding killing people for money enough anymore?"

Nigma scoffed. "_Come now, money is never a valid motivator for individuals such as you and I. However, and again hypothetically, there are challenges...and then there is eluding an entire metropolis' police force. Throw in a rather determined vigilante all the while pursuing rather...challenging targets and...well...can't you see the fun in that?" _He chuckled. "_I'm sure it would be so decidedly...invigorating."_

"I'll stop you," Bruce responded, the Batman's distinctive growl coming out low and threatening.

"_You'll try anyway." _Bruce could visualize the other man's smirk as he said it, easily dismissing his promise. "_I'll admit that I've been enjoying this game immensely though so by all means continue flailing about. You say you know my next target? I can pretty much guarantee you don't, but I suppose we'll find out soon enough." _There was another short pause. "_I don't plan on making this easy on you._

"And there won't be anything easy about what happens when I find you."

The snort on the other end of the line was obvious. "_Succinct as always," _he chortled. _You certainly don't disappoint, do you? I have no doubt in your ability to defeat me man to man. Which is why it won't come to that."_

"No one can hide forever."

"_Oh, I'm not just anyone. This is my game. I make the rules and..."_

His voice trailed off as a brief droning sound could be heard in the background. Before Bruce could react to it though his voice came back on the line. Thankfully, the whole call was being recorded. He could work on identifying that sound later.

"_My apologies, but I have to end this," _he said. "_Places to be and all. Detective, it's been a pleasure. I look forward to doing this again in the future." _There was the briefest pause, causing Bruce to think he'd ended the call. Before he had the chance to check the status of the link though Nigma's voice cut back in. "_Oh, and give my regards to Sean Riley the next time you see him. He and I were forced to have a discussion about operational integrity. I hear he'll be able to have an open casket." _

This time an audible click came through the receiver when he disconnected, prompting Bruce to glance up at the screen in front of him. In all, the call had run a circuit completely circumnavigating the globe. Twice. It had managed to hit every continent save Antarctica plus half a dozen satellites and was still going when the call was terminated. There was no telling how close he'd been either. Nigma's actual location could have been the next stop or the fortieth.

Bruce had the capability to route a call like that, but who else did? How could Nigma acquire the equipment necessary and would it be possible to track those acquisitions? It was something. Not much, but something. Hopefully the audio records of the call could reveal something hidden deep inside as well.

Logging and tagging the newly recorded voice file for later analysis he flipped back to the ongoing tasks. The Russian satellite had been successfully navigated and the signal traced back to Gotham. As before it could only pinpoint the origin to within about a one hundred yard radius. The resulting circle was nearly identical to the one from the other call, the call made to Ian Riley. It wasn't perfect, but it was also too close to be a coincidence. The same person had made both calls.

Less than a minute later the voice comparison signaled its successful completion. Bruce diverted his attention and called up the results.

Ninety-six percent match that the voices were the same. So, it was conclusive. Both the confidential informant that tipped off Harvey Bullock and the GCPD to Ian Riley's location _and _the unidentified man that alerted the Irish to the impending police raid was Edward Nigma. He'd choreographed the entire thing.

"Alfred?" He turned to where his butler was looking at him from across the cave. "I really need to arrange that meeting with Mister Fox. Tracking that signal just went to the top of the list."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Keep your fingers crossed for a faster update. Thanksgiving is going to mean four days away from the videogames but still possessing access top my laptop and Wifi. Looking to hopefully rock out and get a bunch done. Big things are coming. Big, big things. Things I'm excited to write. Sadly, that's all you get though. Happy Thanksgiving all. _


	25. Chapter 25

_I know, I know. Longest lull between updates. Sorry about that. Got myself a bit of writer's block and was just kind of unmotivated for this chapter. Knew I would be. I've been SO looking forward to writing some of the upcoming chapters that I kinda lost interest in the intervening story and plot points that had to occur. Again, sorry. _

**_Legend_** _has cracked triple digits! Last chapter was the most reviewed yet! Thanks so much to you all. This really has been better received and given me more energy than I ever could have imagined out of a first fic. Thank you to everyone that has reviewed, alerted, or favorited. Onward to 200 now!_

_ As always, please don't forget to leave a review. It always gets me excited when I see that notification in my email that I've received one..  
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A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

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><p>Selina didn't look happy. Then again, Bruce couldn't really say that she looked unhappy either, just something akin to...neutral. It was a difficult thing to read really. Sometimes she really could be a closed book.<p>

In another blatant attempt to gain favor throughout the city Alberto Falcone was using the break in Gotham's notoriously foul early winter weather to announce his new venture in giving back to the community. It wasn't anything groundbreaking, the Wayne Foundation had been doing similar charitable works for years, but anything new generally got the attention. The Falcone Trust would work towards supplying zero interest loans to low income families and scholarships to those unable to afford the skyrocketing cost of higher education in an effort to better the lives of those his father once preyed upon. That it might also help repair a family name shattered in the eyes of many of Gotham's residents by Alberto's father and his father before him surely held just as much sway as the desire to do good works.

Still, the intentions were just, no one could argue with that fact. Bruce just had to wonder if the same thing could be said for the man behind them. Despite seeing no evidence to the contrary he couldn't help the nagging feeling that still lingered whenever he saw the man doing one of his many televised interviews.

Bruce was there to keep up appearances. As Gotham City's largest philanthropist he felt that it made sense for him to be there, publicly welcoming the help to clean up the city. At least that's how Alfred had explained it when he'd pretty much forced him to come. How the older man still seemed to be able to do that to someone who was essentially a trained ninja never ceased to confound him.

Honestly, he'd rather have avoided Alberto...or perhaps more specifically, Selina.

She was on his arm, smiling and playing the ever supportive girlfriend. Bruce could tell though that the smile didn't reach her eyes. There was something...hollow about it. As though it was something that she'd merely plastered on for the event. Maybe her time with the man was wearing on her.

Granted, it certainly helped him reach that judgement since she'd confessed the true nature of their relationship to him as Catwoman. Despite what most may see, this was a job, plain and simple. She was deriving no pleasure from it. A fact that was considerably more obvious with the little kernel of information she'd provided. Still, he couldn't find it in himself to be at least a bit jealous when Falcone casually leaned over and whispered something in her ear, stopping briefly afterward before he straightened back up to kiss her cheek.

Nope, he didn't want to be here at all. Thanks for that Alfred.

Selina's expression changed when she eventually spotted him in the crowd, unable to muster even the wooden smile she'd worn for much of the event. She stared at him stonily for only a split second before shifting her gaze anywhere but his direction, her face carefully set in an unreadable mask. Bruce supposed that was probably as close to guilt as he was liable to get.

He knew she was carefully trying to maintain her appearance as Alberto's significant other, concealing whatever her true feelings may be...from both Bruce and Alberto. She'd done a poor enough job of it already once before in that woman's restroom. Apparently she wasn't going to tempt fate a second time. Content instead to just ignore and avoid him. If not for her alter ego's admission to the Batman as well as her rather vehement denial of Bruce's involvement in anything untoward he'd probably believe the act and take it as cool indifference if not outright annoyance.

Instead he was left trying to figure out if it was worth it to have another seemingly random encounter with her on the street if only to steal some time alone with her. Maybe then he'd be able to see if he could bring back that distinctive little smile or twinkle in her eye that only seemed to come about now at night and from behind a mask.

There might be some other selfish purposes thrown in as well. Those that simply involved enjoying her presence or being equal parts curious and captivated by her, but he was still trying to avoid that thought process altogether in an increasingly fruitless battle. The fact that the Batman also had business with her was seemingly growing of less and less importance all the time too.

At least he had that as an excuse with Alfred though.

The event was unsurprisingly boring. They always were. Men with more money than they knew what to do with giving long winded speeches that only served to appease their egos and stroke their own self righteousness. If it wasn't for those that would actually receive some much needed assistance then the whole spectacle would thoroughly disgust him.

A slightly raised dais had been set up across the street from the Boys and Girls Club on 32nd Street in East City Park. There was security, but outside some police there for crowd control and Falcone's own intimidating bodyguards there wasn't a need for an overwhelming presence. This type of thing didn't normally incited violence.

Ever the opportunist, Mayor Garcia was there, probably to lend his support as much as to get his face on the cover of newspapers. Several other council members had shown up as well, likely for similar reasons. Looking almost as bored as Bruce and appearing fairly uncomfortable with his place of honor on the stage was Commissioner Gordon too. The trust had a not insignificant portion of it pledged to the families of police officers and other civil servants and he'd apparently been coerced into making a rare public appearance as a result. It was plainly obvious that he wanted to be elsewhere, likely feeling, like Bruce, that he had better things to be doing.

Bruce nodded again at another well wisher and found a seat down near the front, alternately wondering for the thirtieth time if it was still too soon to call Alfred to come get him. There was better things he could be doing. Killers on the loose and all.

Plenty of them.

Of course all of those idle thoughts died away instantly and he froze when he spotted the small red dot suddenly appear on the Commissioner's chest, dancing across his tie. It was saying something when the chance that someone was playing a bad joke with a laser pointer was actually the less likely explanation than the more terrifying alternative.

Gotham, after all, was no ordinary city.

Was Nigma going after his next target here and now? Given the fact that he'd recently murdered Sean Riley it wouldn't really be all that surprising if he ignored the man's order to avoid Gordon. But still...

Quickly looking around at the still clueless crowd he rose, working his way down the row a little more hurriedly than normal and managing to draw more than a few confused gawks in the process. There was no plan, but he couldn't simply shout out a warning. Having Bruce Wayne incite a riot wouldn't help the situation.

When he reached the aisle he glanced back at the raised dais again, stopping short. The targeting laser was gone and Gordon was still sitting in the same place, a relatively bored expression on his face as some well-to-do businessman made some introductory remarks. Bruce turned and scanned the buildings across from the platform where such a laser would have to be originating. Without a better vantage point finding Nigma would be difficult though, possibly impossible before he made a move. To make matters worse, it was still hours until nightfall when he felt comfortable unleashing the Batman.

Besides, his nearest suit was blocks away. There was no time. Nigma would have to wait, first he needed to get the Commissioner off the stage.

Bruce began moving again.

By the time he saw the laser appear again he was almost to the security stationed at the small metal stairwells leading up to the dignitaries, trying to figure out how to get himself past the burly guards. Selina was watching him curiously, probably noticing when he'd hastily left his seat. It was when he looked at her that he noticed the dance of movement and the small red dot just past her now on Alberto Falcone's white dress shirt.

Bruce frowned for a split second before he began moving again. What the...

"_Gun!"_

One of Alberto's men was already moving, racing from the other side of the platform and tackling his employer who pulled Selina along with them. The crowd was already reacting, rising seemingly as one while a single woman's scream carried over the confusion before everything was drowned out completely by the thunderous roar of a heavy machine gun opening up on the stage and soon thereafter, the crowd.

Bruce dove instinctively, grabbing the nearest person and hauling them down with him while his mind busily began working, analyzing the situation. The gun was loud, probably a large caliber with a high cyclic rate. It was almost assuredly belt fed judging by the amount of fire it was spewing and probably fifty caliber, maybe even a twenty millimeter cannon based on the damage being done. The rounds were practically eating the concrete, shredding the building and sidewalk with impunity as they strafed back and forth while people frantically tried to get out of its path.

Others in the crowd didn't move at all. The weapon was not gentle or pretty with the far softer tissues of the assembled crowds. Where it hit, they stayed down. Most missing large portions of their body from the shear kinetic power of the bullets.

Bruce found that he was shielding a helpless little girl with his body behind a concrete barricade that had been set up for the event. The machine gun could probably penetrate it if given enough time, but thankfully it seemed to be following no discernible pattern, merely moving back and forth over what once was a crowded park.

He risked a glance over his cover when the firing moved away again, trying to locate Selina or Alberto through the confusion and chaos. There was nothing but bodies left on the raised platform where the dignitaries had been. Thankfully it looked like the mayor, attending council members, and other city officials and people of note had gotten away before any damage could be done. There was no sign of Gordon either. Safely out of the way, the Commissioner was likely already calling for police backup.

He ducked back down behind the concrete partition and breathed a sigh of relief that there also wasn't a statuesque, raven haired female body among those bleeding a short distance away.

If it was Nigma then he'd just failed miserably in his attempt. Simply put, far fewer people were killed than a weapon like that should be capable of. Especially when they were crowded into such tight confines. For a self professed master assassin it certainly seemed as though he'd missed both of the men who may have been his target as well.

The little girl shivered against him and he glanced down at her for perhaps the first time.

She was small, probably no older than eight or nine and very obviously in shock. There was no telling where he mother or father was either, no telling if they were even alive.

It almost took him by surprise when he realized that the firing had stopped after nearly thirty seconds of sustained fire, the echo of the gun's report still bouncing off the walls of the surrounding buildings. Now things just seemed eerily quiet, punctuated here and there by a quiet cry or moan.

Something about the whole attack was wrong though. None of it fit _the Riddler_. There was no precision and no morbid playfulness. It was as though the killer was simply going for carnage on a massive scale. As though they were trying to make a statement. If it wasn't Nigma then that left who...the Italians? They certainly had a beef with Alberto Falcone and were certainly capable of murder in a public setting and on a large level. But to this scale?

Still, it made more sense than Nigma.

It was less than a minute later as he walked through the destruction in a daze, a little girl's tiny hand held in firmly in his that he nearly missed it. The sign was crude, something that could be easily overlooked because of the surrounding destruction. From his angle though he had no misgivings regarding what he was looking at. At some point during the seemingly random spray of bullets a pattern had resulted in a symbol being stitched in the corner of the dais, almost blending in with the numerous other smoking bullet holes.

It resembled a question mark.

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><p>"Hi Alfred."<p>

Selina looked shaken and pale, a far cry from her normally lively, appearance. She was also dirty. A thin coating of dust had found its way to the back and sleeve of her dark dress. Her hair, usually impeccably styled was unruly and slightly matted. There was even a smudge on her cheek beneath one of her red rimmed eyes.

"Miss Kyle," Alfred said, the surprise in his voice hidden by the characteristic warmth and humor. "Please, do come in. It's so very nice to see you again." Alfred opened the large manor door wider and gently ushered her in, eying her with equal parts concern and wariness. Her sudden appearance may not mean good things for his master.

"Thanks. It's nice to see you too, Alfred." Selina smiled thinly, an expression that lacked her usual amusement and passion.

He eyed her disheveled look and expression again. The poor woman seemed a bit...lost. "Miss, are you alri..."

"Alfred?" Bruce's voice boomed from upstairs. A moment later he appeared at the top of the manor's impressive main staircase, shirtless and still drying his hair, a t-shirt flung absently over his bare shoulder. "I need you to start a...a..." He trailed off when he saw who was accompanying his friend in the entryway. "Selina?" he asked, confusion and concern spreading across his features. He stopped for a second at the landing before slowly starting down to the lower floor. "What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

Selina fidgeted a little. "Yeah...Uhh...everything's...fine." She nodded, but was still staring at the young man in a daze, probably barely processing his question. "I just...Alberto thought he may have seen you get hit and I couldn't find anyone that could give me a straight answer and..."

"I didn't answer my cellphone." he said, finishing her thought. "Selina," he waited until her eyes flicked up to meet his. "I'm fine. Really."

She was still staring and being a tiny bit unresponsive, but now it seemed to be a departure from the unfocused expression she'd been wearing when Alfred answered the door. What, then, had her attention...oh.

Luckily Bruce didn't have many scars on the front of his torso and those few that were visible could easily be explained away as the result of one surgery or accident or another. The one that resembled an incision for an appendectomy for example. Thankfully it was something they didn't have to deal with all that often. Equally fortunate was that the large, jagged one on his shoulder was covered by the shirt.

Alfred breathed a sigh of relief that the sometimes absentminded young man hadn't turned around either. If she saw the myriad scattering of old wounds there she would undoubtedly think something amiss. That left the large purple and yellow contusion on his shoulder from the bullet strike he'd suffered. That one was as plain as day.

And it looked bad.

"Master Wayne," he said, speaking up for the first time and noting Selina subtly jump a tiny bit, "are you sure you're alright? That bruise you managed to acquire looks particularly painful. Are you certain there's nothing I can do for you?" Alfred approached the man, blocking Selina's view of Bruce and hiding his own look from her as he gestured with his eyes. "I could call the doctor if you'd like."

Thankfully, this was not one of those times when Bruce was going to be oblivious. Recognition dawned quickly in his eyes once Alfred theatrically glanced at the large bruise. The young billionaire hurriedly shrugged on the t-shirt, muttering something to Alfred for Selina's benefit about not needing any help and feeling fine.

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><p>Selina blinked.<p>

Wonderful, so now in addition to the normally simmering attraction she already felt towards Bruce she was now experiencing a steaming heap of unbridled lust. Swell.

Seriously? What. The. Hell. What billionaire looked like _that_? As though the man wasn't testing her resolve enough as it was.

And was Bruce talking?

Selina diverted her eyes down towards the ground and found herself responding...somehow. She probably wouldn't have even been able to recall afterward what she'd said, a stream of thought coming out and explaining her concern that he'd...good _lord_ how often did he work out? Even Olympic athletes only went so far. They generally stopped sometime before bench pressing a Buick came into the picture. Apparently Bruce Wayne most certainly did _not_receive that memo.

Silently she swore at herself. When the hell had she become the moon-eyed teenager? Hell, if anything this was usually an act she was putting on for guys that had no shot in hell of eliciting it for real. When exactly had it become her reality?

Get it together, Selina berated herself. She blinked again. Did Alfred just say something?

The gentle old man was moving, walking between her and Bruce in concern and giving her the opportunity to pull herself together and actually act like the grown woman she was. Drooling was probably not becoming of her after all.

Despite her otherwise occupied attention she hadn't missed the bruise. It was easily noticeable, especially considering it was located on a part of him that she was fighting to avoid looking at. Whatever had caused it, it was definitely _not _some kind of flying debris. It was too perfect, the center dark and angry and getting incrementally less severe as it radiated out. While flying debris could definitely leave a mark she couldn't think of anything with enough size or impact that would have left that big a mark besides maybe a bowling ball.

He certainly hadn't gotten hit by a bullet today. He'd be missing his entire shoulder if that had happened. Curious.

Bruce had a t-shirt on when Alfred stepped back out of the way and turned towards her. Both men eyed her warily before Bruce took several steps closer.

"Selina," he said, his voice low and laced with concern, "what's going on?"

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><p>Bruce watched her for another second. She seemed to be slightly uncomfortable, avoiding his eyes and fidgeting a little as she searched for an answer. The uncertainty was certainly new.<p>

"Look, you know I'm an orphan. I've been around the block a time or two...seen things." She paused running her hand through her hair. "But, I...I've never really seen something like that before," she said, trailing off. Selina finally glanced up at him, her eyes glistening.

"Neither have I," he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

It was a lie. As brutal and carnage laden as the machine gun attack was he'd seen other, equally horrific events in the last several years. Some of the things he saw in the wake of Crane's gas being dispersed in the Narrows immediately leaped to mind.

Selina continued without noticing though. For some reason though she was still having trouble looking at him for any extended period of time. "I'm sorry if I'm intruding or anything. I just...I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Selina scoffed. "Alberto wasn't exactly helping ease my mind in that regard. I didn't really know what else to do."

Bruce waved it off. "Please, it's fine. You're always welcome here. And again, I'm fine," he assured her. He reached down and took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze in an attempt to give her what physical support he could. "Nothing more than a couple bumps and bruises."

She watched him for a moment, seeming to turn some things over in her head before she finally said, "How can you seem so...so cool and collected?"

Bruce shrugged and took a deep breath before answering. "I may have never experienced something quite like...what happened today, but you know I've dealt with tragedy before." Images of his parents, a smiling Rachel, and finally a scarred and horrific Harvey Dent slid by slowly in front of him. He shook his head, more to clear it of the memories from his past than the memories of earlier in the day. ""It never gets easy, but I guess I learned to compartmentalize it and try and...move on."

Selina stared at him fully for perhaps the first time since she'd first seen after entering the house. "Move on? Bruce, how can you possibly move on from _that_? What happened today was terrible. I mean..."

"Poor choice of words," he said, holding up his hands and shaking his head. Rather than continue he turned to his butler. "Alfred, could you..."

Ever intuitive, the older man was already nodding, turning to go with a quick, "Of course, Master Wayne."

"And make it something stiff, please."

Bruce led Selina to a small sitting area in an alcove off the sprawling manor's foyer, settling into the oversized leather chair and motioning for her to join him.

"You brought up my absence awhile back," he started when she joined him. "Let's just say I wasn't exactly living the good life of a rich man while I was gone." He sighed and leaned forward, focusing on the pattern in the marble floors. "It was right after the man who'd killed my parents was murdered. I was there, I saw it happen right in front of me. I was confused and...looking for...something. Some direction, I guess. I don't know." He looked back up at her. "So, I left. I think it was one of the best things I could have done. I mean, I managed to experience a lot in that time away. See a lot. It showed me that I wasn't the only person to experience loss or personal tragedy. I saw that what I was going through wasn't unique." Bruce continued loking at Selina, meeting her look evenly. "I guess I'm not moving on so much as I'm just...trying to figure out what can be done. I'm lucky enough to be in a position to effect a lot of change for the better. I think the biggest thing I brought back from my time abroad was that action had to be taken." He held up a finger, punctuating his next point. "_But, _if you let yourself feel everything, it'll eat you up. Sometimes concentrating on what you _can_do is the only way to stay sane in all the craziness."

"And that's how you do it?"

Bruce nodded. "For the most part." He didn't exactly lie to her. He just didn't define the kind of action he generally took. Sure, his various charitable organizations and foundations did a lot, but that wasn't exactly where he poured his time and attention.

"And you don't think you've become desensitized? To all this? To this city?"

Alfred returned with two glasses of a warm brown liquid, one of which Bruce accepted. For once, the older man actually brought him the alcoholic beverage too.

"If anything, it's how I stay connected to it." He rose with his glass gesturing towards the far end of the room. "Walk with me?"

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><p>Selina rose as well, sipping her drink and joining him as he escorted her towards the other side of the mansion. The scotch left an enjoyable burning sensation on the back of her throat, warming her and easing some of the vivid images of the day that still flitted by occasionally. She hardly even noticed the impressive structure they were making their way through.<p>

"Between the time my parents were killed and when I went...away...I was disconnected, rudderless. From everything." Selina watched him as he took a sip of his own drink. "Maybe it was people not knowing how to treat me...all the money...the murders...I don't know. Maybe it was me. That's just as likely. Anyway, I didn't connect with anyone, didn't open myself up. Even the friends I'd had from...before...were gone for one reason or another."

They passed what had to be an authentic and thoroughly expensive suit of armor, flanked on either side by what she assumed were original landscapes of the dramatic forests and rivers of the mainland.

"You must have been lonely," she remarked.

"I was many things, but I don't necessarily remember loneliness being one of them." Before she could ask what he meant he continued. "I was angry and rebellious," he said. "It was like I was numb. Like the whole world was against me...because of my parents. In all the years, I never let that go."

It made Selina think of her own plight. The anger and sadness that had consumed her and been driving her the past several years. Many times she'd felt lost. Numb to the world and to even the little things that would have otherwise normally brought her enjoyment.

"And you finally let it go? After seven years away?"

He shook his head. "No. It didn't take seven years. Actually, it didn't take that long once I was gone. Most of that time was spent doing...other things. Looking for answers, managing to find some of them." He trailed off and they walked on in silence for awhile.

It didn't escape her attention that he still hadn't actually revealed where he'd been all that time. He talked about it in conceptual terms, as though there were parts of it he wanted kept secret. He still hadn't mentioned a specific instance or memory in all those years. He was discussing the journey, but not the destinations, not the people or actual experiences.

Parts of her own life were much like that though. Selina wasn't going to begrudge him the same. Some things people kept close to themselves. She could appreciate that.

"So, you feel a part of something again? Connected?"

"Absolutely." The familiar, attractive smile broke out over his face. "I found my direction," he said.

"And that would be?"

He pointed to a large faded and ancient hand drawn map that hung, framed, above the fireplace in the library they were passing. "Gotham," was all he said. They continued on past the doorway and down the hall, continuing on past several other rooms in comfortable silence as they both nursed their drinks.

"Mind if I ask why?" she finally asked.

Bruce shrugged as though the answer were obvious. "The people here deserve better. This city doesn't _have _to be this way and I want to try and help make it the way it should be. I don't want anyone else to have to suffer what I did. Not if I can help it."

"And have you helped?"

He had to stop and think about that for a second. Selina stopped and watched him consider it. "Yes," he finally answered, looking over at her, "I think I have. At least, I have to believe I have."

"And it's been worth it?"

He frowned again at that, silently giving her question serious thought before answering. "It's been hard," he said. "Sometimes it's almost been too much, but I've kept going. Someone needs to fight the good fight for those that can't."

Selina wasn't entirely sure he was still talking about his efforts to rebuild Gotham and his numerous charitable organizations. Something about his answers seemed much more...personal.

"I told you I lost someone. Holly. She was my best friend...well...more like a little sister really. She was an orphan too. We were inseparable right from the beginning. Met her when we were both younger and getting ourselves into trouble. Throughout all we went through she always had a good heart though, you know? Was always optimistic and cheerful." Selina smiled at the memories of some of the past escapades they'd gotten themselves into. "God, we really made a great team though. I had the experience and toughness to keep us safe and fed and she had the energy and purity to make me a better person and keep us honest."

"She sounded wonderful," Bruce said quietly.

Selina nodded, focusing on the thick carpet passing by under her feet. "Holly...she always wanted to experience new things, always wanted to travel. A couple years ago we finally started making some real money. Anyway, first thing I did was get her enrolled and started in a local junior college. Second thing was pay for her to have a semester studying abroad in Europe. She never made it back."

"Do you mind if I ask what happened?"

"No, it's okay."

Selina stopped walking and leaned against the large window they'd been passing, looking out over the barren limbs of the dormant garden outside as it stretched away down the hill. "Things were going great," she began, "Holly was having the time of her life, and...she even met somebody. Dario." She smiled a small, sad smile when she remembered the almost giddy phone call she'd received late that one night. "She was even talking marriage and just...loving her life. I think she was even contemplating staying in Europe when the semester was up. Staying with him." Taking a deep breath she took another sip of her drink and frowned. "Something happened though. It...it was slow at first, but she started to seem as though she was slowly fading away, you know? Like someone was extinguishing her spark or something. Her calls became less frequent and were abrupt when she did call. There was no passion anymore in her and she was so sad and...detached. It just wasn't Holly anymore. Not the one I knew. I got so worried that I even made plans to go see her, ready to drag her home if necessary." She looked over at Bruce who was quietly listening. "I stopped hearing from her completely and she disappeared a little over a week before I was supposed to fly out. They found her body the day after I arrived in London."

Bruce stepped over to her from where he'd been silently standing, watching and listening, and put his arm around her. He kissed the top of her head and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Selina nodded absently, closing her eyes and enjoying the warm comfort of him being so close.

"I've been wrestling with this whole thing ever since," she said, burrowing in a little. "They told me she overdosed, hell she even _looked _like a junkie when I identified the body. But...that wasn't her...that wasn't Holly. She hated that stuff. She'd never have touched it."

"You're sure?"

Selina nodded resolutely. "It wasn't _her_," she stated, glad when he didn't question it further.

"Then what do you think happened?" Bruce asked instead.

The solemn expression he wore emboldened her. She didn't often discuss her opinion, not with just anyone anyway. Outside of the first time she'd broached the subject with the London authorities and that one time she'd bounced it off Slam for his opinion she'd never shared it with anyone.

"Not that anyone's ever believed me, but I think it was the guy, Dario," she started. "I think he got her hooked and used her. While I was in London I managed a peak at the forensics report before that 'mysteriously' disappeared. She'd been sexually active...and had been with...multiple partners. I think he got her hooked, controlled her, and prostituted her out. One of those rings that preyed on pretty, naive foreign girls."

Of course, Selina couldn't tell him exactly how she'd managed to acquire the medical examiner's documents. To this day she regretted not outright taking them with her after she looked them over that night.

"And nobody would listen to you?"

She scoffed, a harsh half laugh, half snort. "The case was closed before her body was cold. Just an addict overdosing. There wasn't even an investigation and I never found Dario. Hell, I couldn't even prove he existed."

"So, you're saying that someone was exerting some kind of influence then? Covering it up?"

Selina nodded. "Maybe," she said. In her mind there wasn't much doubt, not after the trail she'd uncovered. The trail that had led her to Gotham. Again though, she couldn't really go into it with Bruce. Not without exposing several certain...truths about herself.

"You know," Bruce began, breaking her out of her thoughts. He separated himself from her slightly, looking down at her with a soft expression. "I could look into it for you? Have some people that are good at this kind of thing do some digging and we could see what they find?"

Selina smiled, possibly her first honest smile in what felt like days. "Thank you," she said. "You mean it?"

He nodded and wrapped his arm around her tighter when she burrowed back in. He couldn't see the momentary flash of uncertainty in her face though. If Bruce went digging and found the trail that she had then he'd also find...her. He'd almost certainly find out things about her and learn the truth. The Catwoman showing up at each city she stopped in, ending in Gotham City at the same time Selina Kyle did would be too much of a coincidence for even Bruce Wayne not to make the connection.

_But. _

Professionals might uncover something she missed. Some link to the mysterious boyfriend that would help her on her quest. Maybe even bring about a conclusion.

She almost wanted to groan. This was supposed to be about avenging Holly, not some selfish desire about wanting to keep your secrets from a man you weren't even seeing. As though things hadn't already been hard enough the past couple of years.

Still, it was certainly refreshing to have a man that barely knew her offer his help. He shouldn't even be willing to talk to her with how she'd treated him and here he was offering to help her with the most important, personal thing she'd ever undertaken.

"Thank you," she whispered again, barely audible.

The burning in her eyes signaled oncoming tears. She'd never let them fall, never let herself be seen that vulnerable by anyone, but it was...nice to know she almost could have around him.

When he kissed her though her mind went pleasantly blank. At least for a moment there was no more thinking of Holly. No more picturing what she looked like on that gurney in that cold morgue. No more worrying or scheming. Just him and his smell and the lingering taste of the scotch on his breath. And it felt wonderful. It may just complicate her life incredibly in the very near future, but in the here and now it was perfect.

Selina wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, hungrily pressing for more.

Eventually he pulled away for air, smiling down at her. Selina rested her forehead on his shoulder, silently cursing any deity listening for the complicated and unfair situation life had thrown her. If only things could be simple.

"We really _are _a couple of damaged individuals, aren't we?" she finally muttered.

He didn't reply, but she could feel his chest shaking as he laughed. Bruce probably thought she was just referring to the tragedies they'd both been forced to deal with. There were...other...things which firmly set her in a category that was conspicuously far away from what one might term 'normal'. Things that someone like Bruce Wayne just wouldn't be able to understand.

She sighed deeply, raising her head to look him in the eyes. No sense avoiding things. She probably owed him an explanation. Not that she had one, but maybe she could at least offer an apology. "Bruce, I..."

"Selina," he softly interrupted, shaking his head ever so slightly. He smiled and shook his head again. For tonight they could forget the complications, forget the secrets and the things left unsaid. Selina smiled her slight, coy smile, silently thanking him with her eyes.

Then he kissed her again and she reciprocated.

Some time later when he asked her to stay for dinner Selina couldn't imagine saying no.

* * *

><p><em>AN: No Batman or Catwoman, but a healthy dose of violence and an almost insane amount of Bruce/Selina. I really did enjoy writing them so much more before they got all serious and stuff. Still, if we want them to get to know each other better (something people in relationships tend to do) and forward Selina's story along then these conversations must be had. _


	26. Chapter 26

_UPDATED as of Jan. 12th.  
><em>

_Alright! Made it in under two weeks. Not the weekly updates you might be used to, but it's the best I can do with all my work, family, sports, and hobby commitments. Oh, and did I mention it's less than two weeks until Christmas. Yeah, that. _

_Thanks so much to you all that have dropped a review, alerted, or favorited this story. It really wouldn't be what it is without you._

_As always, please don't forget to leave a review. It always gets me excited when I see that notification in my email that I've received one..  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The young blond face smiled warmly at him from the page in his lap, but Bruce wasn't watching, instead staring numbly at the old portrait above the fireplace.<p>

The study was a comfortable place to go through the case files again, it's warm wood trim glowing in the fire that Alfred had prepared before he'd left to take Selina home. Despite how much easier he found it to lose himself in concentration in the cave he had to admit that it lacked some certain...amenities. This time of year one in particular was especially glaring. Other than the infirmary and the temperature controlled storage vaults none of it was heated. That meant one thing.

The underground lair of the Batman was absolutely frigid during the winter.

Alfred had been pleading with him to start spending more time up in the manor now that it was all but completed. Apparently the old man had an aversion to the cold that Bruce could honestly understand.

He was still letting his mind wander back to his conversation with Selina. She'd been so open with him. Surprisingly so even. Discussing the death of her friend was obviously hard for her. Obviously not something she did easily or lightly. Despite the years he could tell it was still a fresh wound and he'd gotten the distinct sense that she felt at least partially responsible for the young Holly's ultimate fate.

He chalked her openness up to the day she'd had. No matter what her experiences as Catwoman had brought her he was sure she'd never seen something akin to what had happened earlier. A crowd of people being mowed down by machine gun fire was not something one could simply shrug off.

Bruce frowned.

Should he be worried that he hadn't seemed to be affected more by it? At the time he'd snapped straight into his analytical mode, trying to absorb every bit of information he could. Was he really becoming _that _desensitized? Shouldn't he have experienced something more along the lines of...horror as well?

Selina on the other hand had needed someone. Who knows how long she'd been on her own now? Constantly under the stress of maintaining her cover and keeping what were likely some very dangerous men none the wiser. When was the last time she'd even confided in someone? Did she even have anyone she could trust with it?

He'd never appreciated Alfred's value to him in that regard before. Certainly the man was his closest friend and a father figure. Hell, he was the man who'd raised him. The last family that he had left for all intents and purposes. Even more though he was the one person who knew the complete and absolute truth and who Bruce could talk to about anything. Even Lucius wasn't aware of everything. No one else was.

Bruce had never really stopped to think about what this quest would be like without that. Without someone to confide in. Someone to discuss things with and whose council one could seek. He'd never had to go this road completely alone. Selina had. Who knows how lonely that path had been. Perhaps she was just dying to find someone to talk to. In a weird way it seemed as though both he and the Batman were beginning to serve that purpose. Providing her with some kind of an outlet.

The side of Selina he saw this evening might be unique, a flash in the pan. Her at her lowest. Or maybe she really trusted him and needed someone to listen.

While she'd brutally bared part of her soul to him he'd been rather more...cautious. Granted, he'd allowed a little of his story to bleed through, but even then it only scratched at the surface. He'd only allowed himself to speak figuratively and in generalities. There was no mention of an ancient order of assassins. No mention of a decrepit Chinese prison. Certainly no mention of his training or that he chose to save Gotham by personally fighting its crime rather than through his charitable endeavors and foundations. He couldn't feel guilty though. Not really. She was still somewhat of an unknown commodity and he needed to be cautious. That's what he did, who he was.

Bruce glance back at the file folder in his hands and the glossy photo of Holly Robinson.

Alfred would know some investigators. God knows he'd used enough while trying to find Bruce after he'd disappeared. It would have been quite the stretch for them to have looked for him in most of the places he'd ended up though. Still, they might prove useful and he could possibly get himself further into both Selina and Catwoman's confidence.

For all that he had found out though he still had no idea how her trail had brought her to Gotham or what it was she was looking for in his city. It irked him that this had to be the lowest of his priorities. There was an intriguing mystery here. Unfortunately, murder trumped her search.

Closing the file he tossed it back on the ancient desk that had been brought over from France by his great grandfather. Or rather the costly replica he'd had made of it. The next file on the pile he'd lugged up the elevator from below was the newest batch of test results on the red fibers from the various wigs they'd been purchasing for the past several months. He'd give it a quick scan, confirm that the results weren't matches and move on. He flipped to the second page where he knew the summary was. It'd been months now and still they hadn't...

_Likely Match. Probability: 94%_

Bruce blinked.

It was the fourth sample down, an all organic model they'd purchased from some small company in British Columbia. The strands were more or less identical to those he'd collected from each of the three crime scenes.

And like that they had a lead on the mysterious _Ivy._

Bruce scooped up the remainder of the manila folders and headed for the entrance to the cave, juggling the pile as he input the code sequence in the antique piano's keys. His mind a blur, he barely even registered the characteristically loud, grinding descent into his other office. If he had a make and model he could acquire the company's sales records and cross reference those with who bought that particular wig with known criminal databases and those living in or around Gotham. Hopefully there weren't that many people who felt the need to purchase an all natural, long haired, red wig and the list generated would be short.

The actual effort of getting through the company's firewall and into their electronic records was largely handled by the computers, allowing Bruce to review what he already had on the case. Again. He flipped through the notes detailing the pattern Ramirez had identified, rechecking the history of corruption and under the table dealings each victim had possessed. It was still somewhat thin and circumstantial but it gave him another parameter to search should there be more names than he anticipated. He couldn't help but admire the job the detective had done. If not for her past transgressions she would have been one hell of an asset for Gordon and one determined ally for the Batman.

If only things had been different.

The computer didn't take long. Not when its opponent was some ordinary off the shelf desktop computer on a desk somewhere in Canada. It was less than five minutes before he had the manufacturer's complete sales history and was setting up a search to look through the last five years of records.

Alfred came down five minutes later. He didn't say anything, merely dropped off a cup of fresh coffee next to his employer and headed for the workshop.

"Did she seem alright when you dropped her off?"

Alfred turned back to face the younger man, smiling slightly. "She _did _seem to be in better spirits, sir. I think tonight was just what the doctor ordered."

Bruce turned back to look at the computer screens, staring absently at the cycling search. "You know, you've never told me what you think of her."

There was a brief hesitation before he spoke. "It's not my place, Master Wayne."

"Yes," Bruce said, still not looking over at his butler, "it is." He smirked and finally glanced over. "It's not like you to feel the need to bite your tongue around me. Especially if it's about me. In fact, I can't remember that ever happening before."

"It does prove difficult when one's decisions include dressing as a bat and jumping off buildings." Alfred grinned back at Bruce for a moment with that his usual sarcastic gleam in his eye before growing serious again. "You know I wouldn't presume to tell you what to do with your life, sir," Alfred started. "Certainly, you've managed to make your own, rather unorthodox way in this world, but I've come to trust you to know what's best." Alfred stopped for a second as he passed the other computer station, frowning as he looked at the screens. Curious, he bent over and entered some commands. "As for Miss Kyle, while I certainly am curious about the woman's intentions there's also something...noble there. I suppose I don't _disapprove_of her. If that's what you're asking. You could certainly do much worse, Master Bruce."

"And the Batman?"

He paused again, his frown deepening. His response was hesitant, sounding absent and distracted. "Perhaps that's something that will take care of itself...in time."

By now Bruce was watching him carefully. The behavior was slightly odd for the normally alert and attentive Alfred. Warning bells were already going off in Bruce's mind when the older man suddenly sat up straight.

"Sir, I think you should see this," he said, his voice on edge.

"Did you already find something?" His mind was still on the Ivy murders as he rose from his chair, hoping to see some possible suspects. Instead he saw only the cover page of a dossier with a small picture of an older, weathered man with a short, graying beard and a light dusting of hair. His eyes were hard and unfriendly beneath heavy eyebrows.

"Quinzel?" Bruce asked, reading off the name above the picture. He looked at Alfred. "What..."

"Merely being thorough, sir. When no results came back in our search to find out if the good doctor had any registered firearms I decided to run other iterations of her name in the off case there was some kind of error."

"And you came up with her father?"

"Harold Quinzel, Master Bruce. He shares the same initials as his daughter. And look." The older man flicked over to a window on another screen and Bruce hissed when he saw the information.

"Prohibition era Thompson submachine gun, Colt 1911, Browning 30 caliber belt fed, M79 grenade launcher, 22 caliber silenced pist...Jesus, Alfred."

His butler nodded knowingly, bringing up an old background check and license application. "Apparently the man possessed a penchant for weapons as well as a license as both a dealer and collector of rare and specialized firearms. many of which would have otherwise been illegal. He managed to amass quite the arsenal before his death. One that was never transferred over to his daughter's name afterward."

"So, she has a weapon that matches those used in the last Joker killings," he mumbled to himself, still staring from behind his friend at the various pieces of information. "And we'd have never known."

He spun quickly around, heading off down the steel walkway at a jog.

"Master Wayne..."

"Get me her address," he shouted from inside the workshop, cutting off Alfred. "It's about time I had a talk with Doctor Quinzel."

Unheard by either of them, the computer began compiling a list of names slowly, eventually building it up to almost three dozen people that either had criminal records or resided in or around Gotham and that had all purchased a very specific red wig.

* * *

><p>The smell was what struck him first. It was a dirty, musty smell that the rest of the small apartment echoed. There were clothes scattered half-hazardly over the furniture and on the floor, discarded where they'd been removed and left. It was the same with food. Crumbs and portions of meals dotted the place, some on plates or other flat serving surfaces while others were simply left and forgotten where they'd been set down once the cheap dishware had been exhausted. Nothing was clean or straightened, speaking to someone that was in a very absent, very careless frame of mind.<p>

It had once been a neat, tidy little home. He could see the leftover vestiges of the former existence under the squalor. The carefully hung, but generic artwork on the walls and the carefully organized and meticulously kept files in the metal cabinets in the small office's corner spoke of an inherently disciplined, composed individual who had undergone some kind of recent...change.

Bruce had put together a surveillance suite on Quinzel's apartment right after the second batch of Joker murders had been committed. Unwilling to actually pay her a visit and risk driving her further under the influence of the lunatic he'd been content to position remote camera's and directional microphones on the adjacent buildings. They hadn't provided much. She kept the blinds in a permanently closed state and the thermal imaging revealed nothing other than that she kept to herself. The microphones weren't much better, turning up little more than her humming and the usual innocuous sounds of apartment living punctuated sporadically by hard rock music that she positively blared for long periods of time. No phone calls, no idle talking to herself, no friends or dates coming over...nothing.

It was for those reasons that the walls of her bedroom came as a surprise to him.

They were frightening in their foreboding, the walls plastered with bits of paper and magazine cutouts with notes and thoughts scrawled messily...almost illegibly...over the top of everything in something that resembled bright red lipstick. Front and center were three poster sized pages containing the floor plan of Arkham Asylum. The guard rotations and security procedures were awkwardly pinned next to them, marked here and there by highlights or angry scribbles. Red twine was pinned to various points, connecting notes and locations to photos surrounding the blueprints in a seemingly orderless mess.

Bruce immediately began taking pictures, cataloging everything in the room for further scrutiny at a later time. For the moment there was just too much to take in and analyze.

The smiling wedding photo of the young Erickson couple that had been killed several months earlier stared out at him from beneath a jumble of other bits of detritus on the wall. A few feet over was the faded and worn driver's license of Kyle Estevez.

After documenting the bedroom he moved on, searching the rest of the small apartment for more evidence or Quinzel herself. It become apparent she wasn't there when he found the large, yawning open gun safe in the hall closet. It was completely empty.

"Alfred," Bruce hastily said into his comm unit. Before the man on the other end even had time to respond he continued on. "We need to notify Gordon. Quietly. I need you to get to work on that. I don't have the time to go find him. I'm going after Quinzel." He didn't bother listening to Alfred's response, confident that the ever capable man would find a way to get it done and that he realized the importance of what was happening from the photos he was wirelessly sending back to the cave..

He returned to the bedroom and looked again at the notes. He was missing something.

There was no way for her to smuggle weapons past the front desk and the metal detectors of Arkham. Not unless she planned to engage six well armed men by herself. Furthermore, she couldn't even access the level the Joker was being kept on. Extremely limited access was one of the security measures. Only a couple key individuals had the key cards necessary and most of those were locked away securely at night. She'd need one of the three master keys, one of the few electronic cards that granted unfettered access to the entire hospital. One of those would also enable her to bypass the main entry.

That meant either William Pitts, the head of security, Josephine Alton, the head of operations and patients' rights representative, or Doctor Hugo Strange, the head of Arkham Asylum.

It would be Strange. Bruce was sure of it. He'd seen the animosity she held for the man first hand. If she could kill innocent strangers in cold blood then she could certainly murder a man she despised. The copy of his professional schedule that was stapled to the other timetables and flow charts did nothing to belay that fear.

Thursday was his day to see patients outside his commitments to the asylum at his home office. That's where Bruce would find him tonight.

He drew back the blinds of the room for the first time in months and dove out into the night.

* * *

><p>Doctor Harleen Quinzel had already come and gone by the time Bruce made it across town to Hugo Strange's well appointed townhome. She'd also made sure to leave her mark.<p>

Strange was dead, his throat slit grotesquely and his torso and arms punctured by multiple stab wounds. He lay in the center of the living room where he'd run in a large pool of his own blood, the edges of which were already drying. The rest of the room told the story. The broken front door where she'd likely forced her way in somehow. The overturned furniture where he'd backtracked from answering the doorbell, trying vainly to get away from his crazed employee.

Bruce bent down next to the body and gingerly turned the head towards him. She'd drawn on his face in the same red lipstick-like paint that she'd used on her own walls, coloring a large, feral grin over his mouth that extended up his cheeks where a comical tongue was depicted sticking out. Two 'X's had been crudely scrawled over the man's still open, lifeless eyes as well, giving the entire scene a morbidly comical appearance.

The dark red lettering splattered on the walls spelling out _Ha Ha Ha Ha _in what was likely Strange's own blood didn't exactly help matters either.

As expected, the lanyard that usually held the doctor's electronic key card and security pass was missing. Quinzel would head straight for Arkham now. If she waited at all it would risk the administrator's body being found, likely resulting in the asylum going into a security emergency. Something that would be prove all but impenetrable. No, she'd be on her way.

He slid out to the balcony and keyed his microphone. Alfred responded instantly.

"I've been unable to get a hold of the Commissioner, sir. I was about to try again."

Bruce growled at the frustrating news. "Strange is dead, Alfred. I'm on my way to Arkham. Quinzel's almost sure to be heading there now."

"Yes sir." He paused for a moment. "I still don't understand how she's planning to bypass all their safeguards though," the older man mused aloud.

A hospital it may be, but Arkham Asylum possessed a fully armed and trained security team now to prevent exactly what had happened under Crane's watch. Everything up to and including deadly force was authorized under extreme circumstances. The diminutive woman was either completely out of her mind or she had a plan in place to deal with them. Based on what he'd seen thus far Bruce figured he knew the answer to that question.

"We've got to presume that she's figured it out." He clambered up on to the thick concrete railing, staring south towards the Narrows. "Alfred, get the Wraith into position above Arkham. I'll be there within ten minutes and..."

The sky to the south flashed without warning, lighting up spectacularly in brilliant yellows and oranges and bathing the surrounding buildings in vivid colors. Seconds later he heard the deep rumble and felt the subtle force of the pressure wave of the distant explosion. The fact that he'd felt it at all at this distance was a testament to its size and power. Something big had just happened. Something right about where Arkham Asylum stood.

* * *

><p>This time of night the clack of her hard soled shoes seemed to almost echo down the faded and dingy hallways. Arkham Asylum was always creepy, always seeming to exude a sense of oppressiveness and barely contained threat. Nevermind that the rooms in this section were kept unlocked and nothing dangerous ever seemed to happen in this part of the sprawling complex.<p>

Nancy Wright brushed an errant strand of hair out of her eyes and kept her pace up, occasionally glancing at the clipboard in her left hand.

She still thanked her lucky stars that she got to deal mostly with the non violent and mostly voluntary inmates of the facility. The other areas of the hospital were almost fortress-like in their safety measures. Being escorted on her rounds by burly men with automatic weapons through a maze of steel safety doors and cages was not exactly what she had in mind when she'd gotten into nursing.

Patient #18115 thanked her sullenly as he always did when she dropped off his medication, his eyes never meeting hers. Despite the late hour, some of those being treated suffered from severe insomnia as part of their psychosis. It sometimes necessitated continuing the prescription rounds well into the night.

Nancy peeked through the small observation window in the next room's door to check on their newest addition. The skinny teenage girl with the stringy hair that was curled up within had been checked in by her parents earlier in the day. Scared and quiet Nancy had been trying to get the girl to calm down for the better part of an hour, sitting with her and attempting to soothe her. For now at least she seemed like she was resting well.

Around the corner at the nurse's station she nodded politely to the other duty nurse that was here at this time of night and the one security guard the administration afforded this section of the asylum. Both of them looked bored, the guard reading an old, beaten paperback.

Continuing on past she turned left at the next intersection before crossing the causeway that connected the eastern wing with the rest of the facility, stopping to take a deep breath and gather her nerve before she was buzzed through the heavy steel and ballistic glass door leading to the more...notorious of Arkham's inhabitants.

Aaron Cash greeted her as he always did, the large black man gracing her with a grim smile and some casual pleasantries while he went to the weapons locker to grab the tools he'd take with him as he escorted Nancy during these portions of her rounds.

She didn't usually work the graveyard shift and she didn't usually work the max and super-max wings. Nancy had put in her time and gained the experience and seniority to work with the patients you didn't actually have to restrain during regular working hours. But, here she was, filling in for a friend and coworker who'd just gotten married and jetted off to the Caribbean for a luxurious honeymoon. All the nurses were taking turns picking up her shift for the next two weeks. Tonight was one of Nancy's turns.

Crane was one of the first. He didn't actually require any medication other than the occasional sedation, but they still looked in on him regularly. Although easily appearing sane, charming, and highly intelligent the ex-doctor still possessed his complete obsession with the fear response and its stimuli, occasionally still trying to find ways to frighten or startle the hospital's employees and fellow inmates. Without his mask and chemicals though they were largely little more than annoying pranks.

Waylon Jones was through another set of hydraulically operated steel safety doors. His cell located directly across from the serial killer Victor Zsasz. Given the moniker _Killer Croc_ by the other inmates Jones was enormous. Standing six feet nine inches tall and close to three hundred pounds he'd been a professional football player before he'd been injured and wound up turning to hiring himself out as muscle to professional killers when he got desperate.

It wasn't long after that that he found out he quite enjoyed his new profession.

Sometime along the way he got the dragon scale tattoos that graced his upper back, shoulders, and forearms, had his teeth filed down, and shaved his head. The results were...frightening to say the least.

Nobody was allowed in _Killer Croc's _cell. Not unless he was tranquilized to the point of drooling. And even then they were always well armed.

The most famous inhabitant of the facility was through two more pairs of doors and around a corner past a caged guard station. Per Cash's requirements there were four armed guards keeping watch on the man known only as the Joker around the clock.

Somehow that still didn't make Nancy feel safe.

Thankfully all she needed to do was observe and note anything worthwhile rather than enter the cell and converse with the lunatic. That was Doctor Quinzel and Strange's job. There weren't even any medications to administer yet since a consensus still hadn't been built as to what exactly he actually suffered from.

The Joker had long ago learned the routines and rounds of the nurses and so he was where he always was when they came by, sitting bolt upright opposite the observation portal on his bed and staring eerily right back at her. Even without his makeup the penetrating look the man gave her was downright unsettling. And then there was the slight upturned corner of his scarred mouth.

Nancy was still making her usual notes near his door when the building shook.

Cash immediately grabbed her and pulled her against a nearby wall as a small shower of ancient dust cascaded down from the ceiling and pipes of the old sprinkler system. The roar accompanying the jolt was so loud and so nearby that it took Nancy nearly ten seconds before she even realized it was an explosion and not a train barreling down the hallway.

The guards were reacting before Nancy had even broken out of her stupor, grabbing weapons and checking over the camera feeds warily. At least the high priority inmates were still safely locked away. The lights on the status board showed all green on the security and cell doors doors in the immediate vicinity.

That still didn't answer the question about what exactly was going on though.

"You two," Cash barked to two of the younger men. "You're with me, we're checking this out. Baker...Jimenez...watch her and keep her safe." He pointed at Nancy. "Make _sure_ you recognize and authorize anyone that comes through here." The black man paused for a second, mulling something over. "My call. Deadly force is authorized," he finally said. With that he went jogging off back down the corridor with the two other men in tow.

"What the _hell_, man."

Nancy turned to see the two remaining guards watching the security monitors intently, several of which displayed nothing but static.

"You think we're under attack?" the darker skinned one, Jimenez, asked.

Baker simply shrugged. "Either that or Gotham just got hit by the mother of all earthquakes."

They both turned as one to look at the closed cell door housing the Joker. "Shit," was all Baker said. One of the few reason why the hospital might be attacked lay less than twenty yards away.

It wasn't long after that Cash had left, perhaps only a couple minutes, that they heard the first sporadic popping of gunfire in the distance. Just one or two shots every so often. Once there was even what sounded like a burst of automatic fire.

Ten minutes later, and in the midst of a rather eerie silence the camera just outside _Croc's _door went out, displaying nothing but snow.

Baker grabbed the nearest shotgun and started running out of the guard station, yelling back over his shoulder. "Keep Nancy in the cage. If Jones is out she's safest back there. And try and get Cash on the line. We need to get reinforcements over here _now._" And with that he rounded the corner out of sight, the weapon shouldered and at the ready.

Thirty seconds later they heard two blasts echo down the relatively narrow corridor.

Jimenez was on the radio, trying desperately to raise everyone. All they'd been able to make out though besides static and panicked shouts was silence. That certainly did nothing to calm the nerves.

Because he was working the intercom it was Nancy that noticed the small figure stumble into view of the next camera down from Jones' room. It was a woman, very slight, and looking as though she was wounded judging by the smears of red on her lab coat. Nancy grabbed the first aid kit on instinct and moved towards the door.

The lone remaining guard caught her arm suddenly, wrenching her back. "What the _fuck_! Are you crazy? Where the hell are you going?"

Nancy gestured to the screen and yanked her arm out of his grip. "Relax! Its Doctor Quinzel. She looks like she needs help." The man looked indecisively at the monitor, his thumb nervously sliding over the holstered handle of his pistol. "Come _on_!" she finally said, making the decision for him. This time he didn't stop her from exiting the cage and when she glanced back he was hurrying after her, trying to draw the revolver from his hip.

When Nancy exited the second pair of steel doors the first thing she noticed was that Waylon Jones' door was securely closed, the small hydraulic indicator light above it still a solid green. The second thing was the slumped and bloody body of Randall Baker on the opposite side of the hallway, his chest a ragged mess. Then the shattering sound of a gun going off nearby broke her out of her shock as Eduardo Jimenez was thrown backwards from the impact as he came skidding around the corner after her. He landed face down, unmoving.

She screamed. It was reactionary, the sudden horror building instantly as well as the realization of exactly what was occurring in front of her. The middle aged nurse collapsed, pressing herself up against the door and cradling her face in her hands while also trying to get as small as possible and avoid seeing any more of the carnage. There was no conscious thought behind it, merely the reality that she was unarmed and that there was a murderer who most definitely wasn't.

It was strange though, despite the terror and the blood pounding in her ears and the alarms and sirens bleating all around her time and noise seemed to stop. She knew she was dead. Somehow she'd already kind of accepted that reality. It was almost like a final peace before the last, inevitable hammer stroke.

And then she heard a short, lighthearted giggle.

It was a sound that _should _have been coming from a young schoolgirl or an innocent child. A sound completely out of place considering what she'd just witnessed. The strangeness of it prompted her to glance up from behind her fingers, her curiosity somehow getting the better of her.

All she saw was the impossibly large barrel of a shotgun inches from her face and two light colored, but impossibly empty, dull eyes staring back at her.

It was also the final image she would ever see.

* * *

><p>It was simply...gone.<p>

The entire eastern wing of Arkham was rubble, twisted and smoking and still glowing with small fires and the sparks of a destroyed but ever active electrical system. From what Bruce could see from his vantage point atop the neighboring apartment block the explosion had originated in either the basement or ground floor near the southeast corner, ripping through the concrete load bearing members in that section. The remnants of the crater that hadn't been filled in with debris was still plainly visible next to the larger piles of what remained of the building. The rest of the old structure must have come down like a house of cards after a good portion of its foundation had been violently blasted away like that.

Fire crews and police were on scene now, lit by powerful lamps and the pulsating glow of their vehicle's emergency beacons as they combed through the wreckage for survivors, trying their best to control the damage. Bruce watched the whole surreal scene below him as the figures scrambled this way and that. There weren't going to be many survivors. That much he knew. Not after something like that.

Arkham housed upwards of three hundred people when it was approaching capacity as it had been earlier this month. Most of them weren't violent or even all that troubled, merely those needing psychological help or counseling. As the least secure part of the hospital the east wing was also where these nearly one hundred and twenty voluntary patients were housed.

That meant that _The Joker _also wasn't anywhere near the east side of the facility. His secure, solitary cell was deep in the center of the northern portion of Arkham, as far away from windows and outside doors as possible to further prevent escape attempts.

So, it was a diversion then. A diversion that had just slaughtered untold scores in a crazy bid to free a mad man. A bid that had succeeded.

_The Joker _was free.

In all the confusion and chaos Quinzel had somehow managed to free him and slip quietly away into the night, leaving a trail of blood and murder in her wake. Bruce had tried to track them as best he could, discovering the bodies of several guards and orderlies that had been unfortunate enough to cross their paths along the way. Bodies mangled by machine gun or shotgun fire from extremely close range. Some even after the victim was already dead. Even _The Joker _had never resorted to killing like this. Not without a purpose...or at least what passed for a purpose in his mind. In the past even escape wasn't enough of a driving force to go to such a level.

Finally being forced to seek refuge as the numbers of police and first responders swelled to a point that made it impossible to continue his search, Bruce merely watched and waited now, too numb to do anything else and unable to tear himself away.

Somewhere far above the Wraith circled, recording everything and silently searching for any sign of the escaped prisoner and his one time psychologist.

Against all odds and despite everything he'd believed Quinzel had done it. She'd marched herself into the maximum security wing of a tightly controlled psychiatric hospital and brought out the most feared and dangerous man in Gotham City, killing possibly one hundred people or more in the process. It was almost too much to contemplate, her fall into madness. How could such a rational, intelligent, professionally trained doctor succumb to something that could transform her into something capable of doing...this?

And that was before he even stopped to begin trying to face the fact that the Joker was once again loose in a city already hanging together by the slimmest of threads. The man that had single-handedly brought it to its knees and kept it captive. The man that had destroyed its White Knight. The man that had destroyed his Rachel.

And he was free to start all over again.

Jim Gordon was here somewhere, probably directing the cleanup and rescue efforts personally. Bruce knew he wouldn't be able to stay away. Not when it was _The Joker._Not when it was something this big.

They needed to talk. Subtlety and secrecy be damned, this was more important. A plan needed to be put together. Some way to track and catch the two lunatics before half the city perished in whatever psychotic scheme the man came up with next.

It took another ten minutes of watching, but eventually Bruce spotted his ally. Gordon was next to an official looking utility vehicle with a large schematic spread out on the hood in front of him and a handset to his mouth issuing commands. Subordinates came and went occasionally with either information for him or to receive their next assignment. As usual he was a relative point of calm in an otherwise raging inferno. For the moment he also seemed to be fairly alone.

* * *

><p>Jesus Christ what a monumental clusterfuck.<p>

The Commissioner let himself slip out of his leadership role for a second and simply stare at the destruction before him. The concrete was rubble. Chunks large and small heaped upon one another while still more was crushed into a fine dust from the heat and pressure, coating everything and lingering in the air. What was left of the steel reinforcement and portions of the shell were sticking out, tangled and twisted. Like some giant, broken skeleton's pulverized bones. The army of firemen and paramedics scouring the damaged area were somehow still dwarfed by the rubble and the looming edifice of the scorched, but still standing northern and western sections of the massive building.

Gordon sighed as the cell phone attached to his belt began vibrating insistently again. If he didn't have the mayor breathing down his throat then he had the media clamoring for a statement. And all this before the fires were even out or the bodies recovered. He ignored it and went back to work, already far too worn to deal with even more pressure.

That didn't even begin to call what losing _The Joker _was. That was something far, far worse. Something for which he was sure innocent people would pay if they didn't act quickly. Trouble was, there was little to go on at the moment. It would be hours before the area was safe and the forensics experts could even get in here.

They'd been so close to avoiding it altogether too.

Dispatch had put a call through to his office less than five minutes before Arkham was brought to the ground. The voice on the other end was odd, heavily synthesized and robotic. An obvious attempt by someone trying to hide their identity. He wouldn't have believed the caller's warning at all if not for the dispatcher's assurances that the mysterious person had been trying to get a hold of him for more than fifteen minutes. Even with that warning though they'd been too late. And now they were left with dead bodies, a hole in the ground, and a serial killer on the loose.

That was wrong, he reminded himself. _Another_serial killer on the loose.

Something slammed into the vehicle he was leaning against, rocking the whole truck for a moment and startling him from his studying of the asylum's blueprints.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed when he saw the dark shape crouched on the roof of the still wobbling auto.

"_The Joker's_gone."

"Don't you think I know that." Gordon hurriedly looked around, but no one had seemed to notice the masked man's fairly unsubtle entrance. He glanced back at the crouched figure atop the vehicle's roof. "You can't be here though. What if someone sees you?"

"It's a chance we'll have to..."

"_Holy shit!" _The alarmed female voice came from Gordon's right, causing him to jump and spin to face the new participant. He noted that his dark clad visitor didn't so much as flinch.

Renee Montoya was frantically struggling to retrieve her service pistol, her eyes wide and directed at the Commissioner's visitor. And just like that things went from complicated to damn near impossible.

"Montoya..." Gordon began, holding his hands and turning even further towards her. She wasn't listening.

"_Let me see your hands!" _she shouted, her weapon finally out and firmly directed at a still unmoving Batman. "_Now!" _She took a half step forward, her face deadly serious. "_Commissioner, slowly...back...away." _

"Stand down, Detective." He said it before he'd even really registered what he was doing. Montoya definitely blinked at that, trying not to let her attention waver from her target, but also trying to glance at the Commissioner.

"Sir?"

"I said stand down."

"Sir, he's...he's a fugitive. A cop killer." The gun in her hands was still solidly pointed at the alleged fugitive, but her voice and body language were wavering as she tried to wrap her mind around the order.

Gordon stepped between the two of them, causing her to focus on him and shift her aim. "Tonight he's not," he said quietly. Her shoulders sagged as she seemed to accept defeat and Gordon turned back towards his one time ally.

The Batman watched the female detective impassively as she hesitantly lowered her sidearm. She didn't holster it though. Apparently that was enough for the vigilante whose eyes flicked back to the Commissioner.

"It was Quinzel," he rasped.

Gordon heard Montoya choke at that bit of news from behind him.

"You're sure?" When there was no reaction from the Batman his brow furrowed, but he revised his line of questioning. "How?" he asked instead.

"I was at her apartment earlier tonight. The evidence was conclusive." He tossed a small flash drive to Gordon who caught it clumsily. "She also killed Hugo Strange earlier this evening."

Gordon looked up sharply at that news. "The director of Arkham?" He looked back over at the smoldering scene of destruction, the reason slowly dawning on him. "She needed Strange's access card," he whispered to himself.

"There may have been...personal reasons too."

"Any idea where they might be?"

"Not yet. I missed her at Strange's by a couple hours. Then here by about fifteen minutes. I need to get into the cell block to see what I can find."

"Sir, I don't know..."

Gordon raised his hand to stop Montoya. "Done. I'll evacuate the building. We'll tell everyone it may structurally unstable and that we'll have to wait until the structural engineers can pronounce it safe. Good enough?"

The Batman nodded once.

"Montoya." She jolted at her name suddenly being called, but stepped forward and cocked her head indicating she'd heard him. She never took her eyes off the Batman though. "Find Harvey and get to Doctor Quinzel's place. Let me know what you find. I'll get somebody else to head to Strange's."

The vehicle wobbled a bit as the Batman stood. "I'll be in touch," he said. And then he was gone, zipping up and away into the dust filled sky.

They both just stood there for a moment before Montoya finally spoke up. "Commissioner...listen...I..."

Gordon removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose where he could feel the familiar ache beginning. "I know, Detective. Believe me, I know. Just...do whatever you feel is necessary," he replied.

"And the Batman?"

The Commissioner shrugged, looking back to where his shape had disappeared. "There's a much bigger threat out there right now."

* * *

><p><em>UPDATED AN: Sorry for not including the scene of the attack on Arkham in the original chapter. I honestly hadn't conceived of it at the time and it wasn't in my outline. Once I thought of it though I couldn't get it out of my head and really thought it would add a lot to the whole saga of the Joker's escape. Let me know if you agree.  
><em>

_A/N: Some of these upcoming chapters are those that I have really been looking forward to since beginning this story. Starting with the escape of the Joker. Yeah, he was always meant to show up. Apparently I just HAD to throw the mother of all monkey wrenches into this thing. Needless to say, the stuff is good and truly about to hit the fan. _

_Oh, and I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before, but my Harley will be a bit of a departure from canon. For one, she's not going to be in love with the Joker. I didn't like the "feel" of that with regards to Nolanizing things. She will also be a bit of a departure with regards to her normally upbeat, talkative, cheerful personality. I think it'll work though, so I hope you like what's in store._

_Reviews por favor!_


	27. Chapter 27

_Alright, first thing's first. I realize a lot of you have already read Chapter 26, but if you care to go back you'll find that there's a new portion. That's right, I retroactively added an entirely new scene with about 1,500 or more words. You'll find it right after the part where Bruce finds the body of Hugo Strange. Basically it's the attack on Arkham Asylum as experienced from a nurse's perspective. Let me know what you think and sorry I didn't include it in the original version._

_Second, sorry this took so long. Holidays, family, ski vacation...choose one and just let that be the excuse. Anyone of them is the truth.  
><em>

_As always, from the bottom of my heart, thanks so much to you all that have dropped a review, alerted, or favorited this story. It really wouldn't continue to be what it is without you._

_Please don't forget to leave a review. It always gets me excited when I see that notification in my email that I've received one..  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The cowl dropped from Bruce's fingers producing a light clatter on the steel grating as he plopped himself heavily down into the cushioned chair facing the mass of computer screens while still in full armor. It had been a long and frustrating night. The Joker's escape, the shocking scale of the killings that were committed to secure his flight, and Bruce's own inability to find the trail to Quinzel before she could act added a very unwelcome weight to his already overburdened shoulders.<p>

The rational part of his brain was arguing that there was no way he could have known. No way he could have moved faster or done more. Even the police hadn't found the link Alfred had uncovered. He was already stretched too thin with the other criminals in the city.

The remaining portion of his mind was drowning it out though, screaming that the man who murdered Rachel was free. That he'd failed to keep her killer locked away and that now he was loose to start all over again. The man who'd threatened everything.

From off to the side he could feel Alfred watching quietly. He'd known the man long enough to know he was obviously concerned for him. That was easy to read. He was probably trying to figure out what to say despite the fact that he knew there was very little that could be done to make it better. Still, he'd try. One way or the other it was coming.

"I'll be alright, Alfred," Bruce said, never turning his attention to the older man. "It's okay."

"Somehow I very much doubt that." He stepped forward and bent down to retrieve the Batman's discarded mask, turning it over in his fingers. "No one could be. You least of all."

Bruce sighed tiredly. "Alfred..."

"I don't expect you to believe this, but none of what occurred tonight was your fault."

Bruce leaned back in the chair and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. "I should have stopped it."

"You did what you could. That's all anyone can ask."

"And it wasn't enough." The younger man glanced up at his butler. "Batman's got to be more that. He can't afford to fail."

Alfred scoffed at that sentiment. "Even the Batman isn't infallible, Master Wayne. Everyone stumbles from time to time. Everyone. Now's the time when you get up, steel yourself, and continue on. It's time to endure once again."  
>"It's going to be bad."<p>

Alfred nodded thoughtfully. "Then you brace yourself, sir, and bear on. A wise man said things are always darkest before the dawn." The old man placed the mask gently on the desk to the side of his master. "It's time to chase away the night."

The young man stared at the cowl for a second before sighing. Time to start thinking about what came next. "We need to concentrate on finding _them_," he said, both to himself and his butler. "Everything else has to be re-prioritized for the moment." Before Alfred could voice an opinion Bruce continued. "They're the greater threat, Alfred. Joker and Quinzel killed more tonight than the mobs, Black Mask, Riddler, and Ivy combined. They come first."

Alfred moved to help Bruce begin disassembling the Batman's suit, unlatching the cape from its mounting points on his collar. "It's not that I disagree with you, Master Wayne. It's just...can we afford to disregard the others?"

Bruce worked on removing the gloves and gauntlets in silence for a few seconds before finally looking up and meeting Alfred's eyes again. "Can we afford not to?" He looked down and went back to work. "I'm not saying that we ignore possible leads...ignore them, but we have to know what comes first. What our focus is."

He turned to the screen where he'd already called up and been watching some of the security camera footage from Arkham earlier in the night. The current clip showed the diminutive and wholly unintimidating form of Doctor Harleen Quinzel brutally murder a cowering nurse with a close range shotgun blast sometime before she made it to the Joker's cell. The violence itself was certainly troubling to watch in its own right, as was the resulting gore, but what was almost more disturbing was what came next. There was no emotion, no reaction from the woman after the vicious act. Merely an empty, detached look to her eyes and a scary kind of fascination as she leaned over the dead woman and stared at her for a while before moving on. The empty smile that plastered her face along with the dead eyes made her look entirely alien and...inhuman.

Bruce gestured to the screen. "I think the answer to what comes first is obvious. This is triage, Alfred. Gotham is bleeding to death. We have to treat the worst injury first."

"That assumes that the other wounds won't bleed it to death just as effectively in the meantime."

Bruce tabbed over to several stills he'd saved that showed the Joker's newly repainted face exiting the building behind the smaller woman. "It's the hand we've been dealt. The city nearly came apart once because of this man. Not again."

Alfred watched the video on the other screen loop back and replay the horrific murder of the young nurse again. "First step?" he said quietly.

"Harvey Dent." Bruce turned slightly back to the keyboard and called up a list he'd long ago compiled of the dead district attorney's case files. "My guess is the Joker will still want to try and undo everything the man accomplished. Maybe even more now given the lie we perpetrated to the public after he died. He'll want to destroy that." Bruce leaned back again, his fingers steepled in front of his face as he thought. "He can ruin the man's memory and crumble the public's trust of its protectors in one step if he can prove that Dent was a murderer instead of Batman."

"Not to point out the obvious, but are you sure? He's proven to be rather...unpredictable in the past."

"I know," Bruce said. "Something tells me he's going to want to finish this though. It would certainly help bring about the chaos he thrives on. That means he needs me or Gordon."

Bruce entered a string of commands and brought up the views from the subtly placed cameras he'd positioned long ago around the Gordon residence. Thankfully they were all still working. Everything also looked normal in the household.

"I've already sent him a warning," Bruce said, nodding to the image of the Commissioner sitting in his living room on the phone. "Hopefully he'll get himself and his family out of the city, but I doubt we can count on that. He's too stubborn to leave."

"I wouldn't know what that's like, Master Wayne."

Bruce ignored the jab and kept talking, more to himself than to Alfred at this point. "Joker probably wants me alive to see this so he'll go after the Commissioner." He turned towards Alfred. "I've already sent him a warning , but we need to keep an eye on him." He turned back to the screens. "I just wish we had more to go on."

"Maybe I can bring you a little good news then."

Lucius Fox's lanky form stepped away from the stairs that wrapped the lift up to the mansion. The few times he'd come down to the cave he'd avoided using the ancient, creaky elevator, making some joke about preferring not to use technology that predated himself once. Bruce had left it at that.

"Mister Fox?" Bruce asked, frowning slightly in confusion.

Other than some of the technical help he'd assisted them with in getting the cave operational the CEO of Wayne Enterprises had almost never stepped foot into the Batman's base of operations. Still, he knew the way.

"Nice to see you're unscathed Mister Wayne." Lucius nodded before greeting Alfred as well. He wasn't wearing his trademark smirk though, probably because of the gravity of what was going on in the city, but he held up the data storage device he was carrying triumphantly in his right hand. "Your encrypted cell phone tracker," he said. "Given this evening's events I thought it would be all the more important to get this to you tonight."

Bruce nodded. If he could take the Riddler out of the picture it would certainly take one rather large problem off his plate. "And that?" he asked, indicating the locked plastic case the older man was carrying in the other hand.

This time Lucius did smirk a little, patting the case gently. "Oh. Just a new toy." He began moving towards the steel, temperature controlled case containing the giant hard drives and servers. "First thing's first though."

* * *

><p>"And it'll link up with anything I've got?"<p>

Bruce looked down at the new gauntlet Lucius had eventually produced from the case, sliding it over the sleeve of his shirt on his left arm. For all intents and purposes it looked the same as his previous one. The same sleek armored build, the same double row of spring loaded scallops, and the hidden tranquilizer injectors were all still there. The difference was subtle until Fox had powered the unit up. What set this gauntlet apart was the three inch long by two inch wide touchscreen display set into the underside of it, the section that would be on the inside of his forearm. Allegedly the display would allow him to link up with his surveillance cameras or feeds from the Wraith directly rather than have Alfred feed him direction from the cave.

"Unless you have another weapon's designer under your employ that I'm unaware of...yep." Lucius grinned and slid over to the bank of computers nearest him, pulling up the controls to the unmanned drone. Avoiding the start-up sequence he initiated the electrical system and began manipulating the camera housing in the craft's nose from where it sat in it's cradle. Instantly a high definition night vision image popped up on the gauntlet along with several small touch controls.

Lucius walked back over and held Bruce's arm out. "That one's for the high def camera," he said, pointing at one icon, "and the thermal imaging," he pointed again, "and this will take you to a menu of available devices within range."

"Which is?"

"The range? Oh...probably a quarter mile or so depending on factors like line of sight and signal strength. Should be enough."

"I can't control the Wraith's camera's?" Bruce looked up at his friend and raised his eyebrow.

"One thing at a time Mister Wayne. One thing at a time."

Bruce was still staring at the small screen displaying the image of the cave bathed in the strange greenish tinge that was synonymous with night vision viewers when Alfred dropped a stack of papers into his lap, jolting Bruce to look up at him. The butler pointed at the top of the stack. "There's a name there you might recognize."

He hesitantly looked back down, his eyes tracing back and forth over the list of names on the top sheet. It didn't take long. "Pamela Isley?" he read aloud. The younger man glanced back up, his brow furrowed. "What is this?"

"That," he said, pointing, "is the list of names of those who bought the wig we traced to Ivy's murder scenes."

Bruce stared at her name, almost innocuous amongst the rest, for another second before finally looking back up at his expectant butler. "Didn't I ask you to pull her background and police files?"

Alfred smiled. "They're underneath the list, sir."

* * *

><p>He frowned as he watched his master reattach portions of his just removed armor. Alfred didn't like that Bruce was pushing his limits yet again and going back out. Certainly he understood the necessity of acting on the information with haste, especially given what had happened earlier in the evening and the parallels their current situation had to that.<p>

Still, the man needed to be careful. Exhaustion did not mix well with risking one's life and although Isley was probably not a threat in the physical sense her concoction had more than proven itself dangerous already.

Rather than waste time reading it himself Bruce had immediately began getting dressed again while having Alfred brief him on what he'd discovered. Just like the former psychologist at Arkham Asylum, the facts were almost frighteningly accurate for the profile they'd compiled for Ivy. It was almost eerie that, like Quinzel, nobody had somehow stumbled on the coincidences before.

Bachelors of Sciences degree in Botany and Plant Biology from Gotham University. After that Isley traveled abroad a bit, notably in Africa and South America as some kind of eco-tourist promoting harmony with the natural environment. Upon her return to the states she promptly went back to school and received her Master's Degree in Environmental Science from Cornell University.

Her education alone wouldn't have made her much of a suspect, simply an environmentally conscious individual. Someone who liked the sciences and the natural world. The history of membership in slightly radical, sometimes even violent ecological movements began to hint at her leanings though. There were even police reports that detailed several arrests made at protest rallies before she'd really gotten extreme and been indicted for sabotaging the equipment of a contractor building a seaside community in South Carolina.

She plainly had the ethos and beliefs that defined Ivy, but it wasn't until Alfred worked to fill in a gap in the timeline that he also discovered the abilities she'd need to possess.

Isley immediately enrolled into Gotham University's doctorate program after her master's degree, aiming for a focus on Plant Pharmacology. It was a degree that she would never receive. Less than a semester from completion Isley abruptly left the program for reasons unknown. The lack of a degree meant that the information of her time in the program was largely absent from most accounts. Only the college transcripts truly indicated how close she'd come.

It also told the story of just how capable Pamela Isley was in the propagation, cultivation, and experimentation of botanical material. Indeed, she was almost uniquely suited to producing the kind of complicated toxins and concoctions that were murdering people. Around that same time she also ended her relationships with every movement she'd been a part of. The Ivy murders began just over two years later.

And now she also owned the red wig that matched the evidence taken from the crime scenes.

The Batman now had a prime suspect for the Ivy murders.

Bruce absorbed most of the information impassively, glancing up at Alfred from time to time with a raised eyebrow at some of the more damning facts, but otherwise focusing on reassembling the armor around him.

Lucius, listened as well, working quietly at one of the computer stations nearby.

Alfred knew Bruce felt at least partially responsible for the Joker's escape. Perhaps more than partially. Of course it was ludicrous, but it also meant that there would be no convincing him to stay in and rest and tackle the new information later. Even if tonight hadn't been what it had it probably still would have been a nearly impossible uphill battle. Alfred sighed and bit his lip, resigning himself to the inevitable and handing the cowl to his employer as he rose and moved towards the vehicle bay.

* * *

><p>For some reason Bruce hadn't expected the Narrows, not when thinking of the prim and proper and rather fiery Pamela Isley he'd met in his office at Wayne Enterprises all those months ago. Of course it made sense. To his knowledge she had no job to speak of since the position with <em>Friends for a Greener Gotham <em>had proven a sham. She probably wouldn't be able to afford much then given that fact.

He made a mental note to look into her finances further later. The technology and materials to produce the toxin she used would not come cheap. She had to have some methods to gain access to those kinds of facilities.

His brow furrowed. He'd also have to look into what kind of local facilities possessed the ability to create her poisons. Surely there couldn't be _that _many. I t would give him one other avenue to follow if tonight proved fruitless.

The Narrows was much the same as it always was. Although considerably safer these days it was still mostly populated by those with a generally lower income or those wanting to avoid undue attention. Bruce still made it a regular stop in his patrols, often devoting to it more time than many of Gotham's larger districts. His tireless work had led to far less violent crime on the small island. At least at night.

He could still see the glow above the ramshackle buildings of Arkham Asylum. Part orange-red from the still burning fires and part yellow-white from the powerful police lights set up for the grim recovery process, it was a constant reminder of tonight's tragedies.

And the ever pressing need for him to out here doing exactly what he was.

Bruce gained access through a small skylight, silently picking the rusted old lock and dropping quietly into some kind of living area. The apartment was small. That much wasn't surprising. Nobody had the money for a lot of room in this area of the city.

What was odd was the cleanliness of the place. Despite the stained walls and scuffed floors there was no dust or clutter. It almost looked abandoned if not for the spotless and sparse furniture. What was present was bare bones. A couch and coffee table, a bed and dresser, and the normal appliances and utensils in the kitchen. There wasn't even a television.

There also wasn't a laboratory or any signs indicating pieces of advanced machinery. Hell, there wasn't even a single plant in the small residence. Considering her extreme ecological stance it was certainly surprising that there wouldn't even be a potted geranium or something. Despite this being her current address Bruce couldn't help but figure she was residing elsewhere. It would make finding places capable of creating her chemicals all the more important.

He carefully placed the cameras and listening devices necessary to adequately cover the premises, checking each one's feed on his new forearm screen before moving back into the night.

For all he knew she still stopped by from time to time. Hopefully, given the cleanliness of the place, she still made the occasional appearance. The feeds were motion activated so he'd be alerted the second someone stepped foot into the apartment. For now he had better things to do than sit and wait on something that might not even happen.

* * *

><p>Selina splashed some cold water on her face and stared at the reflection in the mirror. The term idiot was what immediately sprang to mind.<p>

From the other side of the vanity Isis watched on with her characteristic curiosity, sitting with the practiced casualness only a feline can seem to muster.

"Oh, shut up." Selina said under her breath, glaring at the wide yellow eyes of her companion. She turned and headed back out of the bathroom and into the adjoining bedroom, cinching her robe tighter in the process.

Who knew who was watching her now. Ever since her discovery that the Batman knew her true identity she'd been all too cognizant of the fact that someone knew where she lived. Someone with a penchant for surveillance and a love of rooftops and heights that afforded views directly into her 24th floor room.

She'd briefly considered moving, but figured that it wouldn't matter in the end. The man had proven plenty dogged in the brief time she'd known him. It was a near certainty that he'd just figure out her new address and she'd be back to square one. So, she stayed where she was and tried to keep the curtains shut more often.

For reasons that still confounded her he still didn't seem to view her as someone to be brought to justice. Simply someone to keep his eye on. At least for now. With his reputation who knows when that could change. Still, the insinuation that she simply wasn't important enough was just insulting. Her pride didn't like that little slight at all.

Of course none of that stopped her from being intrigued by the man. Sure his skills as a conversationalist were somewhat...lacking, but she couldn't deny that there was a certain inherent, dangerous attraction to a man that single-handedly fought an entire city's collection of evildoers and criminals. The fact that he seemed to be predominantly successful at that endeavor only upped the raw appeal.

She knew it was empty, more the high school appeal of the _bad boy _than anything else, but damn did the man know how to fill out an armored suit and act aloof and mysterious.

Selina plopped down on the bed and sighed. The television was playing across the room although largely going ignored at this point. Something about the explosion in the south of Gotham that had occurred the night before. By this point the talking heads on the screen were just regurgitating the same old news.

She'd heard about the Joker of course. Hell, pretty much everyone in the country had heard of the madman as they'd witnessed a giant metropolis brought to its knees by a single person on the nightly news. His escape probably ought to unnerve her more, but she figured it didn't really effect her. The Batman, now that was a different story. It almost certainly effected him.

And then there was Bruce.

She groaned for the umpteenth time and fell back into the collection of down pillows. Isis watched her dispassionately from the foot of the bed where she lay curled up on the warm comforter.

Complications were _not _what Selina needed in her life right now. Why she'd divulged as much of her past to the billionaire as she had was still a mystery to her. Why she'd even ended up at his home that evening to begin with was still confusing. In all her travels and through all the difficult times of the past several years she'd never gone seeking some one else's comfort. Never been lonely to the point that Isis couldn't provide her with enough companionship.

Selina didn't abide weakness. Not in herself. Not with the job she had still in front of her. And with the way she'd opened up to Bruce Wayne the other night she most definitely felt weak and exposed. It wasn't necessarily a feeling she disliked either. Not completely. That fact just made her all the more confused.

Bruce wouldn't betray her confidence. Of course she didn't know that for a fact, but he just had a way about him that reassured her. He'd listened and been supportive. Something a friend or a significant other would have done. Something Holly would have done. The fact that she'd turned to Bruce, the man that she'd spurned and who would be well within his rights to dislike her, over Alberto, the man who thought of himself as her boyfriend, did not escape her wandering mind either. It was a fairly telling action. Even if it wasn't telling the story she necessarily wanted to.

And then there was the whole physical aspect. Why the hell did he have to look like that anyway?

Selina glanced at the ornate silver clock on the bedside table. It was late. Very late. And she seemed as far away from sleep now as she had been when she'd first tried. Her mind was simply far too active for rest.

That settled it.

She hopped off the bed, switching off the TV and tossing the remote on the sheets behind her. The chest with her...nighttime outfit was waiting at the back of the closet. At the very least she could get out and get some fresh air. Maybe even manage to drown out the cascade of thoughts in the cold night air. At the most maybe she could arrange to drop in on a certain mysterious spiky eared vigilante. Those visits were usually entertaining.

Hell, maybe she could even steal something.

* * *

><p>"You're aware it's a trap, sir?" Bruce nodded, but continued getting ready, securing the hardened shin plates over the kevlar bodysuit. Alfred's eyebrow rose. "And?"<p>

"And I'll spring it," he replied simply.

The butler silently regarded him a moment before responding. "That's wise?"

Bruce shrugged and switched over to the other leg, going through the same motions as before. "I'll scout it out as best I can and you'll run surveillance from the Wraith, but it's the best opportunity we've had. We can't afford to pass it up."

Lucius had succeeded in implementing the cell tracker Bruce had asked for and completed testing two days after he'd initially brought it down to the cave. The specifics eluded Alfred but it seemed that rather than backtracking a signal to its source the new system could concentrate on cell phone nodes, quickly and efficiently analyzing each origin signal from that node and comparing it to the call they were listening in on. Once they had the origin node the backtrace was simple. The only constraint was that you needed to have at least an idea of where the signal was originating. The tracker couldn't analyze every node in Gotham simultaneously.

Bruce had unsurprisingly chosen to try West Harlow near the bar they'd first met, hoping that the Riddler was still making it his base of operations even though the Irish mob was, for all intents and purposes, destroyed with both Sean and Ian Riley dead. It was an educated guess that paid immediate dividends.

Nigma was his normal boisterous self, casually trying to make small talk with the Batman as he also continuously attempted to show off his own considerable intellect or subtly brag about his own recent accomplishments.

Alfred's employer kept mostly quiet, simply putting in a word or two here and there to continue the conversation, but largely letting the more gregarious man carry the load while he watched the computer programs run in the background.

They had the node identified in less than three minutes and an address in less than three and a half. Alfred could see Bruce grimly crack a slight smile as the voice on the other end of the phone prattled on.

The trouble was, Nigma didn't stop talking. He continued on almost uninterrupted for several minutes more before ending the call, causing Bruce's expression to grow more and more grim as the seconds ticked past. By the end of the call Edward Nigma had allowed enough time for even the backtrace to have produced his location.

It left only one possibility. The Riddler had let him have his location on purpose. He was simply too smart and experienced to have absently forgotten. No, they were daring him. It wasn't exactly subtle. He'd _know _it was intentional. They were probably just counting on him coming anyway. Using his own stubbornness against him.

Much to Alfred's dismay his young master felt he shouldn't disappoint them.

"Get me the building blueprints and technical specs as soon as I'm gone," he said, standing up and finishing attaching the cape to the electrical system built into the suit. "Then you can get the drone in position and start gathering intel."

"I still don't think this is wise..." Alfred started.

"It's necessary, Alfred." Bruce's voice invited no further argument. One way or the other he was going to the largely empty downtown office tower the computer had indicated.

The older man took a long breath. "Of course, sir," he finally added. Bruce turned to head out of the workshop with Alfred close behind him, heading down the walkway and back to the nerve center of the cave. Alfred stayed there, settling in and beginning the process of digging through the county records for the building's construction documents.

He turned around once to watch the tail lights of one of the sports utility vehicles disappear into the dark tunnel leading to the outside world before going back to work.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I'll give you a hint...the next chapter or two will be influenced by Die Hard. Sadly, there will be no Hans Gruber though...I think. Hmmm...  
><em>

_Also, I've begun posting status updates for Legend on my profile. I've seen it on other stories I follow and always appreciated knowing exactly how far along (and how long I have to wait) for the next installment. So, you can see __there just how I'm doing and yell at me if I fall too far behind. _


	28. Chapter 28

_Alright! Under two weeks. Still have the desire to post weekly. Sadly that's not happening at the moment. Still gonna try my best and aim for that though.  
><em>

_Thanks so much to you all that have dropped a review, alerted, or favorited this story. It really wouldn't be what it is without you._

_As always, please don't forget to leave a review. It always gets me excited when I see that notification in my email that I've received one..  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>"Yes Alfred, it strikes me as odd that they haven't moved." Bruce fought the desire to roll his eyes and focused his attention back on the thermal image the Wraith was sending his new forearm screen.<p>

The gradations of blues and greens set off the areas of oranges and reds that indicated the generation of heat nicely. So much so that it was capable of seeing through several layers of the building to get a fairly complete look at what was inside. Or rather who. Both men had immediately identified what, at first glance, looked like a meeting occurring on the thirty first floor during the drone's initial pass. The conference room was windowless though, located towards the interior of the glass tower where it did not abut any of the exterior walls. As such, the thermal imager was the only intelligence that they had on the figures within.

And they'd been motionless now for at least twenty minutes.

Nothing. No small arm movements, no adjusting themselves in their chairs or scratching, absolutely still. It did not bode well for the health of the figures they were observing.

"Well, it's definitely a trap," Bruce said quietly under his breath. "Dead?"

"That's what my guess would be, sir, yes," came Alfred's quick response. "The question though is why their body temperatures aren't falling then?"

Bruce rose, stretching his sore shoulders and stiff muscles a little. There was little more they could do from out here or from ten thousand feet in the air. "I'll let you know when I check the bodies."

He'd been crouched on one rooftop or another for the past two hours, slowly moving around the Matakami Tower's perimeter to watch the building as well as search for any hidden surveillance or snipers that might be part of the suspected trap. So far, nothing and he'd finished his sweep. That meant the only thing to do now was find his way into the building.

Once the east coast headquarters of the sprawling Matakami Corporation, the building had been emptied and sold some time ago citing the city's woeful security. As with many large, legitimate businesses at the time, the specter of Carmine Falcone and the city's stifling corruption drove them away to find more stable locales. It had sat empty ever since until fairly recently when Sionis Industries had moved in and scooped it up. For the most part the floors were still largely empty. Many of them in the process of being remodeled.

Bruce considered the problem of gaining entry again from where he stood, the cape billowing out behind him slightly in the evening's light breeze. Blowing a window and making a violent, surprise entry wouldn't work. Not when there probably wasn't anyone to surprise. At least not in that conference room. It would be the most direct method, but it would also alert whoever was trying to set this trap for him.

Stealth would probably be the most appropriate avenue, coming in from the top or from some unexpected angle and showing up without warning. Perhaps the ducting would even be large enough on a building this size. It would certainly have enough of it. There was also the central ventilation atrium and a vertical dive down the length of the tower. Could be interesting.

The plans he'd reviewed showed plenty of security cameras too. Nearly every hallway intersection boasted them, making sneaking in through the pedestrian corridors difficult at best. Bruce had to assume those would be used by whoever was orchestrating this to track him if they could. That made the security room, located on the second floor, a priority. The cameras were wireless, meaning they could be viewed from off-site if the proper passwords were known. Still, the signal could be interrupted. A small explosive charge on the routers would take out the cameras whenever he so desired.

"I feel it necessary to voice my displeasure with this whole situation one more time," Alfred's voice chimed in, breaking him out of his thoughts. "I really think alerting the authorities may be the best course of action this once."

"Noted," Bruce replied. "Not turning back now though. They want me here for a reason. Let's see what that is."

"You mean they may have a reason besides simply killing you?" Alfred scoffed. The older man generally wasn't a fan of Bruce's plans when they involved knowingly risking himself for reasons such as this. Still, he provided a nice counterpoint for him to consider, even if there were plenty of times it was summarily overruled and he risked himself anyway. "Any thoughts on how you're going to get in unseen?"

Bruce glanced up at the top of the building where the red aircraft avoidance lights flashed repetitively. "I was thinking of the central atrium actually."

There was silence on the other end of the line. A silence that was long enough for Bruce to wonder if the connection had been disrupted. "Alfred?" he asked.

"Merely waiting for the punchline, sir. Or, perhaps the real plan."

This time Bruce did roll his eyes. Slightly. "It's the quietest way in," he replied. "I'll be fine."

"Where have I heard that before." He heard the older man mutter.

Now came the tricky part though. He was going to need to get the altitude necessary to make the dive into the bowels of the building. To do that he could either glide until he found a thermal and rode it up, work his way to the top of a building with the necessary height, or maybe he could try...

"Alfred," he asked suddenly, "what's the weight capacity for the Wraith?"

* * *

><p>The Gotham Jewelry District was located downtown, several blocks to the east of the City Hall and other municipal buildings and centered along Fourth Avenue. Compton and Farrell was just one of many unremarkable high end stores dealing in gems, gold, and fine jewelry. Unlike the others though, according to the journals Selina had recovered from Rupert Thorne the store was also a longtime front for Carmine Falcone. Granted, it had been passed down to Sabatino and then to Alberto, but she wasn't being overly choosy at the moment. Even if her psuedo-boyfriend <em>was <em>the owner.

Since she was bored and none of Alberto's other newly acquired properties had any kind of activity going on tonight she figured she might as well see what pretty baubles the shop kept around. Stealing always provided a nice little rush. An adrenaline boost that was generally made all the more enjoyable when it was from a place that once helped the strong prey on the weak. She just wished she could see their faces the next morning.

Well...in this case she supposed she probably could. That thought made her smile a little.

What she wasn't expecting was the large delivery van parked behind the old brick building she was targeting along with the heavily armed men milling around the vehicle. She didn't generally have an eye for firearms and military equipment. Her general philosophy was just to simply avoid the loud, dangerous ends of them at all costs. Still, it didn't take much in-depth knowledge to recognize that what these men had could topple some small Central American regimes. Of that she was sure. The question then was why and what they were doing here?

"Well...that's different," she muttered, looking down over the dozen or so men. She certainly wasn't breaking into the jewelry exchange tonight, not with men packing that much firepower just outside. She was the best and quieter than just about anyone, but they were standing outside the best entry opportunities to the building. Still, it gave her curiosity a bit of a tweak. If she couldn't make off with something shiny tonight then maybe she could figure out what these muscle bound men were up to and have some fun in the process.

Selina settled into the shadows above, content to wait and see what happened next.

* * *

><p>Bruce groaned and stretched his back. The dive hadn't been particularly bad, the Wraith able to support his weight for a brief time above the shaft, allowing him to make a perfectly vertical descent. No, it was the landing that had proven painful. He'd miscalculated slightly and hadn't been able to fully unfurl and make rigid his cape in such a small area. It had meant slamming into the steel grating at a slightly faster speed than he would have liked.<p>

He was pretty sure he heard Alfred grunt at his sounds of discomfort, but the older man bit his tongue past that.

At least he was down though, past numerous security measures and cameras and within the bowels of the tower.

The shaft ended in a large steel grating that entered the building through the ceiling of the third floor above a pump and central air circulation room. If he could get in there he could probably figure out a way to cut through to the second floor and the security room, bypassing the cameras. At least, that would be the tentative plan.

Bruce kneeled down, producing the small tools to cut through the metal and went to work with the plasma cutter, bathing himself in an eerie blue light as the machine melted the steel.

Three minutes later he was through and following a length of ducting that the blueprints indicated could get him down another floor and over about fifty feet. It wasn't especially spacious or easy going, but it was what was available and it avoided any unwanted attention. Once he had the charges set though he'd made the decision to allow himself to be seen by the cameras. Overconfidence in their plans along with underestimating him were factors that he could use to his advantage if this was, in fact, a trap. At least he wouldn't have to take the cramped route the entire distance back up to the thirty first floor.

The thermal imaging still showed nothing below him in the small room featuring several dozen small security monitors. It made the body slumped over in the wheeled desk chair a bit of a surprise.

"Michael Ealey," Bruce read aloud, looking at the name tag attached to the man's uniform shirt. "With Able Security Services." Obviously some kind of low grade service that had been hired to keep an eye on the property and prevent theft or vandalism while the building remained largely unoccupied.

"Ealey," Alfred said, reading from Able Security Services employment records, "age thirty six, employed for four years, no priors or criminal record. All in all a rather unremarkable gentleman."

Bruce nodded. "Collateral damage," he said. If there was any doubt left that this was a trap, it was gone now. "Placing charges." He opened the breaker box nearby that had the power cables connecting to the wireless routers and placed four small remote explosives at the junction points, arming each one when he was done. In all it only took two and a half minutes. "Alright, Alfred. I'm heading up."

Bruce pulled himself back up into the cramped ducts. No sense letting them know he'd been on the second floor or anywhere near the security room. That might lead them to get suspicious. He'd pop out on the fifth or sixth floor and allow the cameras to find him, then head for the stairwells or elevators.

* * *

><p>"Barb, what time's the recital again?"<p>

Gordon was trying to find a clean tie in the small pile that had accumulated in one corner of the closet. Most of the time he got home so late that he undressed in the dark so as not to wake his sleeping wife, flinging the piece of fabric in the general direction where he knew the others lay.

He heard her muffled answer from inside the bathroom where she was getting ready as he tossed another one in the laundry hamper.

Everyone knew he abhorred these social functions. It was the running joke among the various politicians and social big wigs for whom dinners like tonight were their lifeblood. If you wanted to make Jim Gordon sweat, you didn't shoot a gun at him. You stuck a microphone in his face.

If it wasn't for the fact that Barbara enjoyed dressing up on occasion he'd probably call in sick to every single one of the social engagements he often felt pressured to attend.

At least his daughter's piano recital the next evening would be an enjoyable, low key affair. Family time was a rarity for him these days as it was. It made nights like tomorrow all the more important for both him and his little girl.

An incessant buzzing from the nightstand drew his attention and had him give up the search for a tie momentarily so he could answer his phone. Bullock's familiar voice greeted him. It wasn't good news.

"We're not going, are we?" Gordon looked up to see the slightly disappointed, but smiling face of his wife watching him from the bathroom doorway. She began unclipping her earrings when he paused a moment before responding.

"Something weird's going on downtown over at Matakami." He walked over and gave her a peck on the lips. I'll make it up to you Barb. Promise."

* * *

><p>"Now, where are you all off to in such a hurry?"<p>

Selina watched quietly as one of the men below finished speaking into a cell phone. Judging by his expression it was a rather serious and tense, albeit short, conversation. Upon hanging up he immediately began barking orders to the others milling about who snapped to and began moving with precision. Although he wasn't speaking loudly enough for everything he said to carry to her she was pretty certain she managed to hear the words _Makatami_ and _Batman _somewhere in there. Then again, perhaps the second part could have been nothing more than wishful thinking.

She smiled. Her decision to stick around and watch the assembled group had payed off. At least her night would be getting a little more interesting. A night filled with big men carrying big guns generally didn't lack for excitement.

The orders were immediately followed by the fairly ominous sign of the group checking and loading their rather automatic weapons before donning black ski masks and clambering into the back of the van.  
>Selina also noticed several of them attaching patches to their black tactical vests emblazoned with the word <em>police. <em>

And the plot grew thicker.

She didn't stick around long after that, already heading southeast across the rooftops towards Matakami Tower to see what happened next. With any luck she might be able to beat them there and figure out a good place to either get inside or to sit back and watch the show.

* * *

><p>The conference room was dark when he entered, the limp bodies sitting upright in several of the wheeled chairs bathed in shadow. He moved to the closest man quickly, an older fellow with graying hair dressed in a well tailored business suit and sporting a jagged scar on his forehead, just below the hairline.<p>

The lack of a pulse confirmed what Bruce had already suspected. He quickly dug in the man's pocket, producing a wallet and identification. "Dominic Gennaro," he said quietly aloud, looking back down at the slack face.

"Gennaro, Dominic," Alfred said into his ear, probably reading off a police dossier a quick search had uncovered. "Captain in the Galante Family. Before that he served a similar role for both Maroni and Carmine Falcone. He has a multitude a priors, including several short stints in prison. Most recently he was released from Blackgate in March two years ago."

Alfred continued on, listing some of the nefarious accomplishments the fifty-something man had been convicted of and some he was suspected in. Bruce dropped to a knee to look under the chair where he found a small box. The portable space heater was turned on full blast, directing its output upwards on to the seat and figure above it. The chair next to it had the same thing.

So that's why the bodies were still registering as warm. Someone obviously wanted him to find this room.

He made his way around the conference hall, checking the identities of each seated dead man. In the end they'd identified six mid to low level Italian mobsters. Was Nigma or Black Mask finally beginning to dismantle Sabatino and his boys?

"Ah, Batman." A television hidden in the corner on a small desk sprang to life. Despite the dark shadows, Bruce could make out a small web camera attached as well.

There wasn't much to garner from the figure on the screen, his face, save for his eyes, were completely concealed by a strange, almost skeletal mask, its bare, grotesquely formed teeth and smile grinning eerily back at him. Subtle grain in the black material hinted at some kind of wood. Carved then? "Nice of you to join us," the disguised voice said again. "It's wonderful to finally meet you."

"Black Mask," Bruce growled.

"In the flesh as it were." The figure leaned back in whatever chair he was sitting in, affording Bruce a view of a well cut, high end suit and tie, complete with satin pocket square. Beneath his cape he hit the button that would record the conversation with the mysterious crime boss for later analysis. "I have to say, I had quite a few reservations about whether or not you'd actually show up. My colleague, however, never lost faith in you."

"Nigma."

The masked man clapped appreciatively, his hands hidden beneath thin black leather gloves. "Impressive, sir. Very perceptive. He regrets that he couldn't be here to greet you as well, but he has other business to attend to this evening. I'm sure you understand."

Bruce remained still, breaking his stare with the television monitor only long enough to look over the room for anything he may have missed. Anything that could provide some clue as to the trap or the criminal's intent. Black Mask didn't let the moment of silence last long.

"Now, I'll admit, I'm impressed with what it is you do," the distorted voice remarked. "Mister Nigma speaks rather highly of your abilities. Apparently he sees you as quite the worthy adversary." The figure cocked his head thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, either that or just an amusing diversion. It's actually hard to tell with him. Either way, he was quite vocal against this course of action.

"Course of action?"

"In good time, Batman." If he could see the man's mouth, Bruce got the impression that he'd be smirking.

"But, you make the decisions," he said.

The evilly grinning mask bobbed as the man nodded. "I sign the checks, yes."

"And what is it _you_want?"

"Simply put...Gotham." He didn't elaborate further, content to sit back and watch Bruce.

"Why?"

"My reasons are my own," he said. "No need to get into that now." He leaned forward again, gesturing with his hands absently. "However, I'm afraid that leaves me with a bit of a problem when it comes to you. Put bluntly, I can't afford to have you around to interfere with my plans. You've proven to be quite the thorn in the side of many ambitious men in Gotham in the past. Unfortunately for you I don't intend to make the same mistake as others."

"Ambitious?" Bruce said, keeping his voice even although he wanted to scoff at the understatement. "You're a murderer."

Black Mask spread his hands on the tabletop in front of him as though he were putting all his cards on the table. "A means to an end, Batman. Merely a means to an end. I do what needs to be done to get what I want, as many men do. Right now though, what I want...is for you to be out of the picture." He turned to someone off camera and nodded. "Now," he said, before turning back to face the camera. "Goodbye, Batman."

Bruce was already moving though, heading for the large double doors.

The blast caught him square in the back, sending him flying sideways across the heavy wooden conference table before slamming against the far wall hard. There wasn't much fire or heat thankfully, mainly just the force and shards of debris it flung in its wake. Obviously it was professional. Designed to inflict casualties but not harm the building's structure or attract any more attention than absolutely necessary.

The armor cushioned some of the impact from both the explosion and the meeting with the wall, but Bruce could already tell his ribs were tender, probably fractured, and judging by the stinging sensation his back was punctured lightly by shrapnel. He stayed on the ground for several moments, allowing the ringing in his ears to subside a little and his hearing return. It also afforded him the chance to regain his breath while the smoke and dust choking the room cleared. Bruce finally rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Ah, most impressive."

Bruce glanced back towards the corner where the monitor had been, but it was in ruins. He was still being watched. The security cameras then? It was the only way he could be monitoring Bruce at the moment.

"Edward warned me not to underestimate you," said the Black Mask's disembodied voice from some unseen speaker. "I'm glad I took his advice. My men will be there for you shortly."

* * *

><p>The cape wasn't working. That was <em>not <em>good news for Bruce.

Either the fabric was too shredded by the explosion it had weathered to glide or somewhere along the way some shrapnel had pierced a portion of the vital electrical system. Either way it didn't matter. He wasn't going anywhere for the moment.

Bruce glanced out the window down at the main entry to the building far below where a delivery van had just pulled up, disgorging a group of large, well armed men. Black Mask's men.

He didn't waste any more time. He blew the routers back in the security room, effectively disabling the building's cameras and other features. Then he moved, winding his way out of the area and through several large, open office areas. Now they wouldn't know where he was.

"Alfred?"

"Go ahead, sir," came the nearly immediate reply.

"You got an eye on our new friends?" He was already cycling through the camera modes of the Wraith on his small screen, settling on the view from the telescopic lens that showed the group entering the building in startling detail.

"Sixteen men, all heavily armed," Alfred replied.

Bruce frowned. They were sporting customized M4 assault rifles with laser sights and tactical flashlights with a couple M-249 belt fed squad machine guns thrown in the mix. He even saw some flashbang and fragmentation grenades on them. Then there was the bulky and expensive body armor. This was not a group of thugs or small time hitters. This was something else. Alfred seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Four teams of four, moving in concert. Approaching the main staircase now." Bruce switched back to the thermal camera and watched as well. "Mercenaries?" the older man asked.

"Probably." Bruce nodded to himself. "Ex-military...maybe even special forces. And well funded judging by the equipment. You don't see the mafia hitters with this stuff."

"There's something else, sir. Another contact."

The screen panned wildly to the south, quickly picking up another heat signature clinging to the outside of the building at the third floor. Bruce flipped back to the zoom lens.

Selina.

What the hell?

Her lithe form and the black catsuit she wore were distinctive even if the ears and goggles weren't plainly visible. She was hanging upside down outside a third floor window working some kind of putty into the seam.

Jesus, Bruce hoped she wasn't going to detonate some plastic explosive. That would bring the armed men down on top of her faster than even she could handle.

Why she was here and why she appeared to be working at the window to gain entry he didn't know. What he did know was that her presence was going to make things more complicated. He had been hoping to slip by them and quietly disappear into the night. That was no longer an option. Which led him to another probable problem.

"We have to assume the police are coming, Alfred." he said quietly.

"The patches?"

"And the fact that sixteen men aren't enough to set up a perimeter." The armed men were on the second floor now, fanning out in groups of four to clear the sparse, spacious rooms on that level. Bruce would have a little time before they made it to where he was, but considerably less till they made it to her. "They need the GCPD to do that so I don't escape," he said. "This group is here for me."

"You're not leaving then, are you?"

Bruce rose, moving quietly back to the hall and then down the corridor to the southernmost stairwell.

He shook his head. "Not yet."

The wail of sirens could be heard faintly now despite the fairly soundproofed glass of the building and the enclosed stairway. From the landing at the next floor he could begin to see the blue and red blinking lights approaching far below from several different directions. The familiar sound of a helicopter's blades beating the air joined the din shortly.

"Alfred," Bruce sighed, "you'd better get the car ready. We may have to get creative."

* * *

><p>The sirens weren't a good sign. She couldn't even chalk it up to a coincidence, just a random squad car screaming by or something, judging by the dozens of lights she could see converging on Matakami Tower.<p>

Selina groaned. "Seriously?" she mumbled to herself. How did she get herself into these situations?

She cracked open the door of the small office she'd managed to pull herself into and took a hasty look around. No telling where the group she'd been following were now. Normally she'd have assumed they'd have made a dash for it as soon as they heard the sirens. She was starting to understand the purpose behind the police patches she'd watched them apply though. They weren't going anywhere.

She slid out the door and into the darkened hallway, hugging the wall as she moved towards the east side of the building where the central stairway was located. It was the most logical place for her to start. Find the gunmen and follow them. Simple.

Of course she'd never expected them to find her. Apparently she'd underestimated them, used to taking on rent-a-cops or even patrol officers and these guys definitely didn't fit under either of those categories.

There was no warning before a bright, almost blinding light suddenly appeared to her right, illuminating her at the intersection she'd been crossing. She froze, cursing quietly under her breath and turned, shielding her eyes as best she could. Thankfully her goggles also adjusted to the sudden increase in light, filtering it to preserve her vision.

There were two of them, both with their weapons pointed unflinchingly at her. There would almost certainly be more nearby too. Crap.

One angled his head slightly towards the other, never taking his eyes off of Selina. "What do you think?" There was some obvious confusion in his voice.

"That's not the Batman," said the other one. He too sounded somewhat...unsure of the situation they found themselves in.

Selina decided to run with it, putting a hand on her hip and striking a calculatingly sultry, but casual pose. At least she could maybe throw them off some more. Make them uncertain enough to find an opening and disappear or take them out. "While your powers of observation may be astounding, I really think this is all just a misunderstanding..."

They ignored her. If they weren't threatening her she'd almost be insulted that her feminine wiles weren't at the very least...distracting. There were reasons for the tight fitting suit beyond utility and function. It certainly helped that most of the security guards she encountered were heterosexual males.

"Geez, ya think?" the first one said to the second. "I meant what do we do with her?"

Gunman number two shrugged, the muzzle of his rifle bobbing slightly from the gesture. "Boss said anyone in our way was expendable." He raised his weapon a little more threateningly, cradling it further into his shoulder. "She seems like someone who's gonna cause problems to me."

Selina raised her hands up defensively. "Boys, boys," she began. "Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot. _Obviously_, I'm not Batman and I'm _obviously_in the wrong place at the wrong..."

She dove sideways, hitting the ground in a roll before smoothly transitioning to her feet around the corner and behind cover from her attackers. Immediately she was sprinting in the opposite direction, away from the twin bursts of automatic fire that stitched the area she had been standing and followed her into the nearby wall.

It took very little time before she could hear them barreling down the corridor after her, calling for reinforcements over their radios along with their position. This might be a little tricky to get away from. Especially since she had no idea where the other dozen or so men were. Again...crap.

Selina increased her pace, slamming through the stairwell door and sprinting up the flights of stairs two at a time. When she reached the landing a floor and a half up she heard the door below open again, followed by the pounding footsteps after her. They were still calling out their positions over the radio too. She wasn't getting away from them in a foot race. She needed to lose them and no way that was happening in a stairwell.

She shouldered open the next access door, throwing herself into the sixth floor and turning right down the corridor. At least it was dark, the whole floor seemingly bathed in black shadows. She could hide here.

Moving ahead and around the corner quickly, she slowed down just enough to allow her to be silent, turning down another corridor and continuing deeper into the structure. In the near distance the sound of the fire escape door violently banging open could be heard. It was followed by silence.

There would be a machine room somewhere on the floor, probably near the center of the building where the elevator shafts were located. Filled with the sprinkler risers and various environmental machinery it would provide Selina with the most direct access into the ducting that would allow her to get lost within the structure and away from the searching gunmen. She could figure out her next move then.

Selina stopped at the next intersection to listen, keeping her panting breath and quickly beating heart as quiet as possible. She needed to remain calm and in control. There was no longer the pounding footsteps to her rear. Her pursuers had probably lost her and were being more silent themselves, hoping to sneak up on her as they cleared a path.

A beam of light cut through the darkness to her left, down the hallway she'd intended to go. It was brief, but in this environment it couldn't mean anything good.

There was no way that was her pursuers from the stairs either. No way they'd managed to not only catch her, but come at her from a different angle. No, this was another group coming from another direction to intercept her. No telling how many of them there were either. So, the direct route was out.

Selina crossed the intersection and continued in her original direction. Maybe she could skirt them and circle back around. It would certainly give her the cleanest getaway.

The hint of light she found coming towards her where the hallway turned left made that plan obsolete. She was running out of options fast. Hiding now took precedence. That or a surprise ambush. And if there were more than two trained men coming towards her she didn't particularly like her chances with Option B. So, hiding it was.

The closest door yielded a large corner office, its large windows sparkling with the reflected lights of the city and the twinkling of dozens of emergency vehicles below. Judging by the state of the room this floor was probably under construction with sections of the dry wall missing, exposing the metal ribs and wiring in the walls. Several large power tools also sat unused and left uncovered by the construction crews inside.

She immediately crossed to the vent in the ceiling above the table saw, leaping up to get a better look. Crap. Far too small for her to wriggle into. She'd be lucky to get her head into that. Normally she'd have had the entire building's blueprints memorized for something like this. Selina cursed under her breath. This whole thing had been far too impulsive of her. In this line of work preparation could be the difference between life and death.

Dropping back down quietly she moved to the nearest bank of windows. The light from the gunman's weapon could be easily seen through the crack under the office's door now, getting more intense with every passing moment. There was an audible click as he and however many men he had with him entered the office next door.

She was out of time.

The window was pressure seated, held in place by several small clamps in the building fascia and using its own weight to keep it in place. The malleable weatherproofing around the edges would only be a minor inconvenience if she could get to those clamps. If she could pop one or two of them then maybe she could force the others to fail. It wouldn't be subtle, an office missing a window would be all kinds of obvious, but it was the best she had.

Selina bent down and went to work.

When someone cleared their throat behind her she'd managed to disengage two of the clamps and still the glass wouldn't budge. Selina stilled, wondering briefly how she'd managed to miss them coming in. She sighed and closed her eyes before rising and turning towards the intruders. Figures the fucking window wouldn't budge. Her streak of bad luck certainly seemed to be holding.

Two of three gun barrels were directed towards her she saw. Three men total and no sign of the initial two she'd encountered. "Away from the window," one of the gunmen directed. She stepped forward slowly, one then two steps. The masked man in the middle, the one who didn't have his weapon trained on her, held up his hand. "That's plenty."

"Who are you guys?" Selina asked. "And why the hell are you chasing and shooting at me?"

The one in charge didn't respond, directing his attention away from her and listening to something intently in his earpiece.

"Come on...is this what a little breaking and entering gets these days?"

"Theft wasn't your intention," he said, still listening to something over his radio. "Why you're _really _here is what concerns us."

Selina smiled. "Come on. Do I look like I came looking for a fight? Like I said before, this is all just a misundersta..."

He held up his hand again, cutting her off abruptly. "Understood," he said into the microphone at his collar. "Of course, sir. Teams three and four are already on their way up." He glanced back at her, unsubtly, for a second before whispering, "We'll take care of it."

Selina tensed. Either way, she wasn't going to go down quietly. That just wasn't...her. She was a fighter. Jumping through the window and hoping for a soft landing was out. At this height there was no such thing as _soft_. Maybe she could at least take one of the three out with her though. It was small consolation, but it was what she had.

She was still contemplating her very few and decidedly unappealing options when she noticed a shadow separate itself from the darkness in the hallway.

The leader nodded one more time before removing his finger from his ear, redirecting his attention to her. "Kill her," he said.

Selina smirked as the other two tightened the hold on their weapons. She looked past them over their shoulders. "Ya know," she said conversationally, "_he_ might have something to say about that."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Little bit of a cliffhanger leading into an action packed Chapter 29. First glance at a very smooth, very serious Black Mask. Let me know what you think. Reviews are always welcome.  
><em>


	29. Chapter 29

_Yay! A fairly quick update! And another one coming along soon too.  
><em>

_Thanks so much to you all that have dropped a review, alerted, or favorited this story. It really wouldn't be what it is without you._

_As always, please don't forget to leave a review. It always gets me excited when I see that notification in my email that I've received one..  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>She had to hand it them, they certainly reacted quickly enough. All three of the assailants spun instantly upon Selina making her little observation, bringing their weapons to bear with them. Either they were decidedly gullible or they'd somehow sensed his approach too.<p>

Not that it mattered much. Two of them never made it more than a quarter turn, going down in a heap when the Batman brought his armored forearms down hard into the crook of their necks. It shouldn't have been a debilitating strike as far as Selina knew, but both gunmen went limp immediately.

She was going to have to get him to teach her that one.

The third ignored his assault rifle, letting it drop on its sling to his side as he drew his sidearm. They were already far too close together for a rifle to be of much good in a fight. Not that a pistol was any more effective. It was falling unused to the floor a second later, when the Batman grabbed hold, wrenched it down and then hammered his elbow into the man's forearm.

From then on she couldn't even tell what was going on. It was all whirling cape and blackness and shadows. The knife being drawn was obvious enough though, glinting in the moonlight and the illumination coming in through the glass. Before she even had a chance to react and try and help though it too was clattering to the floor and the gunmen had been picked up bodily and slammed down into the hard, bare concrete.

The entire brutally quick, efficient episode made her _very _glad she hadn't tried to pick a fight with him that first time they'd met.

"Who are you?" He had his masked face bent down close to the thug's face, hovering over him. Or looming...looming may have been a better term for it.

The gunman just stared defiantly back at the vigilante, not breaking eye contact and keeping his lips tightly pressed together, prompting the Batman to slam his head against the floor again. If it wasn't so stupid Selina would be impressed at the man's ability to stand up to the rather intimidating vigilante.

"_Who _are you?" the Batman asked again.

It merited a grunt and wheeze of pain, but otherwise no difference in reaction. Selina crossed her arms, shifting her weight behind the two of them. "He's not gonna tell you anything, you know."

The Batman cocked his head towards her for a split second, but didn't look at her, his eyes never leaving his prey. Then, without warning he slammed his palm into the man's temple, leaving him out cold on the bare floor and rose to face her.

"Umm...hi?" she tried somewhat meekly. She wasn't timid by nature, but his glare cut through a lot of her usual bravado.

"What are _you _doing here?" he growled, taking a menacing step forward.

Selina stood her ground though, recollecting herself and allowing a slim grin to play over her lips. "Would you believe I'm just passing through?"

"Selina..." His voice was startlingly forceful. From past experience she knew he wasn't usually in the mood for banter or games, but tonight seemed to have him in a worse mood than usual. Typical.

She dropped the slight smile. He wasn't going to let this go, wasn't going to let her deflect. "Alright, _fine_," she began, walking over to one of the bodies and nudging it with the toe of her boot. "Followed these schmucks here. Just happened across them about a mile or so away and thought it might make for an interesting night. Of course, I didn't intend to make myself a casualty at the time."

"An interesting night?" He stared at her for another long second. "That's it?"

Selina nodded and shrugged. "That's it. Didn't say it was going to be an especially scintillating story."

He stared at her for a few more seconds, studying her features. Probably looking for any sign of deception. She'd told him the truth, just not the whole truth. No way was she telling him why she'd been in the vicinity in the first place. He reached under his cape, producing a small steel case and tossed it her way.

"What...?"

"Fingerprints," he said, already crouching by one of the unconscious men. "I need to identify them." Selina watched him for a moment as he worked on the body he'd taken out last, furthest from the door before looking uncertainly at the nearest unconscious gunman. Oooookay. This wasn't exactly her usual scene, but what the hell. She walked over, staring down at the unconscious man to the right of the closed door.

And the door opened.

She was shielded from view by the cheap wooden panel from whoever was in the doorway, but the person coming in and leading with the barrel of a rather large firearm could certainly see the Batman's back as he crouched less than twelve feet away. Reinforcements she realized instantly. How she'd forgotten that there were at least two more gunmen looking for her escaped her at the moment.

"_Batman_!" Selina yelled, slamming her shoulder into the thin wood. The man in the doorway obviously had his attention set on his quarry judging by the amount the door moved and the lack of any retaliation. She could feel the body on the other side give when it impacted, likely getting squished into the door frame. A short burst of fire sounded off, echoing through the room and tearing into the ceiling as his finger squeezed the trigger reflexively.

He wouldn't be caught off guard for long.

Selina swung low around the entry as it was shoved back open, staying out of the most obvious line of fire. She'd do what she could until the Batman decided it was time to get off his ass and take care of things. He was obviously the far more experienced fighter, but he also still had some distance he'd have to cover to get to them. First and foremost for Selina, that meant not getting shot.

The large individual on the other side was surprised by her sudden appearance, trying to adjust his aim down after her and failing miserably. She was within striking distance of him and too close for the assault rifle as soon as she rounded the door. Her fingertips found the soft, meaty part of his underarm and the claws sank in easily through the cloth. She heard an audible grunt of pain and the body tense in response. The next strike was directed at his shoulder blade as she twisted around him, but he was already moving, stepping forward and knocking her aim off so it just ricocheted off his body armor, tearing small cuts in the material instead.

Selina danced back out of reach for a split second. A split second in which he scrambled to reach for the pistol on his thigh. She darted back in again at the opening, undercutting his hasty defense before planting her kneecap violently into the back of his. He went down, exposing the well armed, but still slightly surprised, man coming up behind him.

There wasn't a lot of time to think. She launched herself at the newest intruder, putting her full weight into him, before kicking off and rolling away to a safe distance. With his size and strength it probably wasn't advisable to get in close and start a wrestling match. That could end badly for her. Caught off balance he met the wall on the opposite side of the hallway awkwardly with his shoulder and stumbled to the ground.

While he was struggling to right himself she glanced back into the corner office to find...nothing. No Batman at all. What. The. _Fuck_? So much for chivalry. So much for the damsel in distress and the knight in...well not shining...but still armor.

The first man she'd attacked was back on his feet now, throwing a look at his discarded rifle and favoring his left leg. At least she'd managed to hobble one of them a bit. Assuming his weapon wasn't a good idea at the moment he approached her, arms up in a classic guard stance.

Smirking, Selina darted diagonally, pouncing off the wall and coming down at him from the side. He blocked the opening shot easily, but her second, more purposeful elbow found its way into his ribs. She was going to go down further and strike at his exposed legs until someone strong grabbed her from behind, dragging her away from her target brusquely. One large forearm snaked around her neck, looking for a hold and trying to tighten over her windpipe.

Her claws made sure he regretted that.

When his grip loosened in surprise and pain Selina slipped away, backing against the corridor wall to keep both adversaries in sight. Wonderful, surrounded. To one side, near the door to the office the first intruder was approaching her warily, limping visibly from the initial strike he'd absorbed to his knee. On her right the other man was standing still, gripping his forearm where blood now flowed freely and looking very angrily at her.

Crap.

"So," she panted, breathing heavily as her eyes darted back and forth between them, "you two ready to surrender yet or what?"

Trying to catch her unawares the second man struck first, darting a jab in at her head. Selina blocked it easily, spinning low and already expecting the second strike that was coming from behind from the other assailant. The predicted punch sailed cleanly over her head. Even trained professionals weren't generally used to fighting someone that stayed as low as Selina, striking out from unusual angles.

Fighting two of them for an extended period of time was a bad idea though, especially considering they were still surrounding her. She couldn't last against both in a prolonged encounter.

Thankfully the sweeping hook that had just hit nothing but air gave her an opening. She punched the man as hard as she could in the groin.

Predictably, he went down hard and fast, curled up slightly on the carpeted floor. No way he was rejoining the fight for at least a good minute or so, not with how solidly she'd connected with such a sensitive area. Selina rolled past him, easily avoiding his decidedly half-hearted attempt to grab her.

The second gunman was bearing down on her when she popped up to her feet again, spinning to face him. He didn't bother with precision this time, choosing instead to hit her like a linebacker with his entire body, slamming her into the nearby wall.

Stars exploded in front of Selina's eyes as she fell back to the ground on all fours, trying desperately to shake away the pain and cobwebs clouding her mind.

The kick to her midsection came next. Expecting it, but unable to avoid it she instead latched on, gritting her teeth when her torso exploded in pain. Her claws found the soft flesh of his inner thigh though. That got his attention. He howled in pain, scrabbling at her to try and dislodge her fingertips, but only encouraging her to dig them in deeper. Then he began swinging wildly for her head.

Selina kicked out into his shin and let go of his upper leg at the same time, pushing herself back to her feet against the wall. He dropped to one knee from the blow, one hand still holding his inner leg. She had to give him credit, he was already trying to respond, trying to gain some distance and get back to his feet. One reinforced knee pad to the face later and he was down for the count.

And there was the Batman, standing silently nearby and watching her evenly.

Selina glared at him and walked over to the other man, still writhing on the floor. His night ended with an unceremonious heel to his face.

"And where the _hell _were you?" she choked out, not bothering to turn and look at him.

"Busy."

Now she was definitely looking at him, spinning to stare at him incredulously. His expression didn't change one iota. "_Busy?_ Are you _fucking_ kidding me? _Busy?_"

"There were three more on their way," he said, gesturing back down the hall from where he'd apparently come. Selina stepped forward and looked to see an unmoving arm sticking out from a side corridor twenty yards away. "You seemed to have things under control." He crouched down next to the closest unconscious gunman, studying him.

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," she muttered bitterly, crossing her arms. It almost angered her as much as his disappearance that he seemed to be immune to her glare. What the hell was it she found so fascinating about him again? Selina glanced back down the hall at the unmoving arm. Oh, right.

"We'd better move," he said suddenly, standing back up next to her and looking down the way she'd originally come from. "There's more coming."

"How the hell do you even know that?" She followed his glance down one of the empty side corridors, but it was empty. Unsurprisingly he didn't even acknowledge her question, just started off down the corridor with her trailing after him. "Right," she said sarcastically, "more secrets. Yaaaay."

They reached the elevators without further incident and had the sliding aluminum doors open seconds later. Selina was looking up the darkened shaft when she felt his arm wrap itself around her waist and froze. Thoughts and implications darted through her mind in a chaos of thoughts. _Holy crap, what's going on?_ seemed to be the general sentiment. He pulled her tightly against him and Selina had several fleeting but still rather explicit thoughts of just where exactly this could be going. Talking about his feelings probably wasn't his _thing _anyways.

And then she snuck a peak at him.

He wasn't even paying attention to her. Instead, the moron's focus was on the dimly lit elevator shaft and the grapnel gun she'd seen at their first encounter that he was pointing with his other hand. She groaned inwardly. _Of course_, he was still all business. And here she was acting like some damn fool girl. Again.

"Hey, hey, hey." Selina brushed his hand off indignantly, hoping to hell her outfit hid the embarrassed blush. "This ain't my first rodeo big guy. I've got this."

He regarded her a moment and then nodded abruptly. "Sixteenth floor," was all he said before zipping away into the dimness, leaving her behind. Again.

"Show off," she muttered.

* * *

><p>Bullock frowned. Was that...gunfire? He stood silently for another half minute, listening intently as the uniformed officers scurried around him to set up barricades and seal off the area. He didn't hear anything further, but that didn't mean he'd been wrong the first time.<p>

"Ryan?" The field commander for the tactical teams looked up, pulling a headset away from his ear. "You got anyone in there already?" He nodded towards the towering structure in front of them.

The annoyingly fit man looked at Harvey in confusion for a second before looking up at the tower. "What are you talking about?" he finally asked. "My guys just got here." He pointed towards a group of black trucks towards the back of the parking lot where they were setting up. "They're still getting geared up. There's nobody in there but the freak."

Harvey nodded and went back to watching the building, not really believing him. He knew what he'd heard. Gunfire meant that there was more than just the Batman in there. Somebody else had to be getting shot at or doing the shooting after all.

It also meant something fishy was going on.

His thoughts were interrupted when a dark sedan was waved through the police cordon, pulling up and disgorging a rather well dressed but foul looking Commissioner Gordon from the driver seat.

"Sorry we had to drag you away from your party, Commish."

Gordon waved it away, taking a deep breath as he walked up to the head of Major Crimes. "Don't worry about it. You know how I feel about those things," he said, already staring at the glass and steel structure behind the burly detective. "What's going on?"

Bullock shrugged, pushing the brim of his hat back a bit to rest on his forehead. "Your guess is as good as mine. Batman's supposed to be in there, but we don't have any proof other than this." He passed over a grainy still image taken from a surveillance camera of the infamous masked man. Allegedly. It really wasn't a great photo. "Wasn't my call to get everyone so hot and bothered and over here in force." Bullock grinned. "For once, I'm just along for the ride."

Gordon was already staring through a pair of high powered binoculars that had been laying nearby, scanning over the building's exterior. "How'd we get the photo?" he asked, never taking his eyes from the target.

Harvey grunted. "Anonymous."

That got the Commissioner's attention. "You remember the last time that happened?" Bullock nodded, watching the building as the helicopter circled again. This time the aircraft finally activated its brilliant spotlight, playing the beam over the glass surface in a seemingly random pattern.

Nobody was going to forget the ill fated Ian Riley raid. Nobody within the GCPD or MCU anyhow. They weren't going to forget the assassinations that came next either, claiming the lives of several decent cops and scaring the rest into one hell of a paranoid existence. The tension running through the department was almost palpable now that the death toll was up to eight.

Two beat cops had been found just last night.

"We need to be careful, Harvey," Gordon finished saying, looking thoughtful. "Something's just not right." He glanced over to the gathering of tactical officers looking through the building's blueprints. He didn't hide the resulting frown or exasperated sigh very well from his subordinate. "I'd better stick my nose in there," he remarked, nodding in their direction. "Make sure they're not gonna do anything stupid."

He stalked off, leaving Bullock by himself with nothing to do but watch the droning of the chopper overhead.

The Batman had been a thorn in his side since he'd taken this position. Although Gordon was surprisingly understanding about the failed manhunt Bullock knew he was getting plenty of pressure from the elected officials above him. Even that lame duck District Attorney had come to see him once to voice just how badly the public was clamoring for his capture.

The man was a murderer and a nut job as far as Harvey Bullock was concerned. Still, he was just one man. Bringing down the organized crime structure that was still rampant in the city had to be more important, right? Maybe if they weren't so busy scrounging in the mud for political capital the higher ups would see the clearer picture.

Despite the different sides of the law they were on Bullock still respected his enemy enough to recognize his strengths. The man was a damn ghost. Every time they were close he just slipped away. His thoughts slipped to the Precinct from a couple weeks earlier. Gone in a flash.

A brief but obvious rattling crash came out of the building again. Despite the ambient noise from the helicopter everyone heard it this time judging by the looks on their faces and the pauses in conversations.

Gunfire.

They were all straining to hear now, waiting to see if there was more and looking pretty damned confused as to why there'd just been automatic fire in a building that was supposed to be empty save for one man.

"So, Ryan," the detective called over to the senior tactical commander. "You were saying?" Bullock was chuckling at the man's apparent confusion and ineptitude when the Commissioner appeared back at his side.

"Now, now, Harv...play nice," he said, but he was wearing a thin smile. Bullock just grunted. The Commissioner fidgeted for a moment before finally speaking again. "I know this wasn't your call," he began, "but I'm putting you in operational command." Harvey moved quickly to voice his objection but was cut off even quicker by the older man. "I _know _you want this on someone else for once, but I can't trust any of them," he nodded his head in the direction of the scrambling tactical commanders, "not to screw it up completely. No cowboy shit and nobody dies tonight. Got it?" He patted him on the back, trying to be reassuring. "Piece of cake."

Bullock pinched the bridge of his nose as Gordon wandered off to make a phone call. Why he'd ever celebrated that promotion to the head of MCU he'd never know. Here he was getting yet another inevitable disaster laid at his feet. This was _not _happening.

"You," he growled, grabbing the arm of the nearest technician and pointing at Matakami Tower. "Why don't I have eyes in there?"

The smaller man shrank a little into himself with the bulky detective looming over him. Hesitantly he managed to stutter out an answer. "The surveillance system's wireless. Building management provided us with the router information and passwords, but we can't find the wireless signal. It's like the whole system's down."

"So they're broke?" The smaller man nodded vigorously, still trying to back slowly away. "Listen, I need to know what's going on in there. You go get with your boys and get me a solution. You've got five minutes." The man's face dropped at the last part, but he went scampering off all the same.

"Ryan." Harvey approached the small group of black clad officers still hovering over the building plans. "I want your entry and assault plan yesterday. I also want a team within visual range of every exit that place's got. Got me? Nobody, and I mean fucking nobody, moves unless I give the order though. I don't care if the Gotham Knights cheerleaders are taking requests, they don't goddamn move."

There was some eye rolling and muttering, but they moved to get the tasks completed. Apparently Gordon's decision had already been passed around enough that he didn't have to knock heads with anyone to get his way. Yet. Bullock pulled his hat off and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. God he wanted a stiff drink right about now.

"And will _someone_ please get me a fucking radio?" he bellowed.

* * *

><p>He begrudgingly had to hand it to her, she was good. Not that he'd ever tell her that as the Batman, but she worked her way up the elevator shaft far faster and far more nimbly than he probably would have been able to given the same tools. Maybe he was becoming too used to depending on the grapnel gun?<p>

The whip was a curious yet oddly effective tool too, one he wouldn't have thought of. Bruce watched Selina as she flicked her wrist again and sent the length of leather careening through the air before it found purchase on a steel crossbeam above her.

Bruce had a feeling it would be just as effective when she used it in a fight too.

Still, despite the admiration of her skills this was taking too long. She should have just let him bring her with him rather than insist on doing things her way because of her damn pride. He _was _trying to save her life after all.

"They're moving past you now, sir." came Alfred's voice in his ear.

Bruce glanced at the screen on his gauntlet and watched as four heat signatures in two different stairwells descended past the floor they were currently on, going down to check on their fallen comrades. It meant they were above any possible gunmen and safe for the time being.

He was going to have to be careful from here on out. He'd become accustomed to having Alfred's help and being able to talk back and forth with him over these past months. Having Selina in close proximity meant he'd have to watch it. He couldn't afford her finding out too much. At least not yet.

On queue Selina popped up out of the open doors, leaping gracefully up and landing in front of him. She instantly began winding the bull whip back up in her hands. "So, what now?" she asked, taking a careful look around.

"We wait," he said and began stalking off further into the darkened interior. They had eight well armed, well trained gunmen still after them and were effectively surrounded by members of a police force that would likely enjoy seeing him dead. He needed some time to think and come up with their next step.

Of course it didn't take long for Selina to seem bored. She didn't hide it well, if she even tried to hide it at all. She slipped a small instrument out of one of her pouches and began fiddling with it, reclining casually on one of the nearby desks. After a second she noticed Bruce watching her.

"It's one of their radios," she explained, holding it up for a second. "I lifted it off one of them downstairs. Figured I could listen in and...you know...make sure they don't come sneak up on us or something." Bruce just stared at her. After a moment she seemed suddenly self conscious. "What?" she asked, still fidgeting with the small device. "It's a good idea. I'm surprised you didn't think of it."

It _was _a good idea. Their radios. Obviously they were in communication with each other as well as someone giving them directions. Listening in to them or possibly shutting that down could be extremely valuable.

And he had access to the Wraith's electronic warfare suite.

He turned his back to Selina and walked away as she fiddled with the device, trying to slide the small earbud under her hood. He allowed himself a good ten yards before he put his hand to his ear and spoke to Alfred, being careful to keep his voice down. "See if the Wraith can hack into their communications and patch it through. At the least get set to jam them if I give the word."

"I'll get right on it, sir," came Alfred's quick reply. Bruce could already hear the clacking of keys in the background.

"And see if you can backtrack the signal too if there is one. Maybe it can lead us to Black Mask or whoever's coordinating this." He didn't wait for the older man's confirmation.

"So," a familiar female voice cooed from Bruce's right. He turned to find Selina balancing lightly on a desk behind him and grinning guiltily at him. She'd been so quiet he hadn't heard a thing. "Who was that?"

He didn't answer. What was he going to say? Tell her he had his butler hacking enemy communications? Bruce just glared at her a moment longer before pivoting in place and stalking off. Best just to ignore it.

Apparently Selina wasn't daunted in the least, leaping down lightly and obviously excited about this latest bit of information. She followed him as he walked away.

"Come on...come on, don't be that way," she said, her voice bubbling with mirth. Then she froze in place. "Holy crap. Do you have like some _super _secret partner that nobody knows about? Like...tech support?" She clapped her hands once and laughed, her usually hidden eyes growing large with the goggles pushed back on her forehead. "Sidekick! Oh, please tell me it's a sidekick. Some young, geeky computer whiz or something that provides the plucky comic relief to your dark, boring, brooding act!"

"_Stop_. Eavesdropping," he growled as menacingly as possible, turning on her and closing, trying his best to loom over her and intimidate her into submission. She smiled brightly back at him.

"You also admitted the radio was a good idea," she pointed out. If anything her smile only grew wider. Bruce kept walking, again attempting to ignore her.

Alfred's voice popped up in his ear after a couple steps, causing Bruce to glance back again to make sure Selina wasn't too close. He doubted she could hear anything through the material of the cowl, but there was no sense risking her hearing a voice that she might recognize.

"Sir," the butler began, worry tinging his voice, "you may have a problem. The Black Mask's men are heading back up the stairs and appear to be heading in your direction."

Bruce immediately brought his forearm up and confirmed that, indeed, they were filing back up towards the two of them. He frowned. They should have no reason to do that. Not only should they believe their prey were heading down, they also shouldn't be bypassing entire floors like they were. It was inefficient unless they knew exactly where they were...

"What're we looking at?"

Selina was perched on a cubicle wall next to him, looking over his shoulder. Bruce shot her another glare and went back to watching the movement of the heat signatures as they moved steadily up the stairs. Selina, again, was not going to be denied.

"Is that like...holy crap, do you have...a satellite." Her head darted from the screen on his forearm to his face and back down again. Her goggles were down again, but he was sure her eyes were wide judging by the surprise in her voice.

Of course, this _wasn't_, in fact, from a satellite...although he had those too. They weren't exactly downward looking spy satellites or anything though, merely the WayneSAT system with its GPS capabilities and _some _imaging abilities that was mainly limited to terrain mapping and things of that nature. Or at least that's what the government was led to believe.

"How in the _hell_ do you swing this stuff?" she continued unabated. She was standing next to him now, pressing against him closely to try and get a better look. Bruce couldn't find it in himself to push her away though. She was close enough now that he could make out the soft curve of her jaw, the glow of perspiration on her neck and the hint of matted, sweat stained hair barely poking out from under her hood by her ear where the wire from the radio's earbud came out and...

The radio.

The radio she'd looted from one of the disabled gunmen.

They were tracking it. That had to be it. She was bringing their hunters right to them.

"Give me the radio," he said forcefully, holding out his hand.

She never took her eyes off the small screen and the blobs of color, just shaking her head at him. "Hey, I got this one fair and square. Go find your own," she quipped. "You've got your little sidekick anyway. Why do you even need..."

"_Now!_"

She jumped at the forcefulness of his voice, finally looking up at him and taking a step back, searching his eyes. Finding nothing but deathly serious intent she wordlessly pulled the earphone out, untangled the receiver from a pouch on her hip and handed the entire contraption to him.

It was quickly pulled apart into two more or less even pieces, spilling some of the electrical contents including a strange, pulsating beacon that was attached to the thin, wound up filament that served as the radio's antenna. Bruce quickly brought his heal down, smashing the small instrument completely.

The figures on his small screen hesitated momentarily in response, but then continued on up the stairs, increasing their pace.

Selina was still staring at the ground and the destroyed radio when he grabbed her upper arm, propelling her forward.

"_Move!_."

The door on the far side of the open, cubicle filled office slammed open, spilling four of the troopers into view with their weapons up already scanning separate arcs of the enclosed space. Despite the low light and their black outfits, it didn't take them long to spot Bruce and Selina moving quickly away from them to their left.

"_Contact left!"_

The shout was quickly drowned out by the violent staccato of automatic fire as it ripped into the thin fiberglass divider walls around them. Soon two more, slightly different sounding weapons opened up as well to join the first. Bruce pulled Selina down with him, wrapping his arms around her and plastering the two of them to the floor.

Within a couple seconds only the first weapon was still firing, still showering the two of them in fibers and bits of dry wall. That would be one of the pair of machine guns he'd seen earlier, built and equipped for sustained fire like this so that they'd be pinned down while the other three crept closer and encircled them.

Bruce reached down to his belt and blindly threw a spread of smoke pellets over the partition in their direction. He couldn't be sure they'd find their marks, but hopefully it would at least slow them down some. He and Selina needed to regroup and they probably didn't have a whole lot of time to do it.

Time for an exit.

* * *

><p>"Ready?"<p>

Selina cocked her head at him, arching an eyebrow behind her goggles. She'd been watching him now quickly but calmly assemble some kind of contraption that spit globs of...well...what it was she wasn't actually sure about. When she'd tried to investigate one he'd roughly grabbed her ankle and pulled her back towards him.

Now she was staring at him in confusion.

"Ready for wha..."

The words were still in her throat when the entire floor seemed to quake and shudder upwards before shattering in one motion, accompanied by a group of simultaneous muffled thumps. Then she was falling.

Selina was still hacking and trying to rub the dusty debris off her goggle lenses when she was jerked again, this time to the side as the Batman began dragging her down yet another hallway. She staggered once as she fought to regain her senses and whereabouts, but nimbly stayed on her feet as he kept moving briskly around a corner. After another twenty yards she shook her head and finally jerked her arm out of his vise-like grip.

"Those were _bombs_?" she screamed. The whole ordeal, from the gunfire to the explosives meant her ears will still ringing slightly and she'd managed to land awkwardly on her shoulder in the sudden fall to the next floor.

He stopped for just long enough to tilt his head back and glance at her. "We need to keep moving," he replied evenly. Then he was moving off again briskly in the other direction. Selina jogged to catch up to him, rotating her arm to try and get the stiffness out of her shoulder.

"I thought you were just a little eccentric before," she started, coming up alongside him. "Now I _know_ I probably don't have a whole lot of room to talk given how I'm dressed at the moment, but I had no idea you were absolutely _fucking _certifiable. Are you fucking kidding me? _Bombs_?"

"It worked."

"And what if it hadn't? Oops, sorry you're in such tiny little pieces?" Selina reached back and smacked him hard from behind on his armored shoulder blade. "One of them was right by my _head_. From now on, I come up with the plans. No more plans involving blowing ourselves up."

They continued for a short time more, Selina following him as he wove them through the darkened, empty corridors seemingly directionless. If it wasn't for his constant checking of his forearm monitor and the way he occasionally cocked his head when he was listening to something his mysterious assistant was saying she'd think he was leading them in circles.

"Here," he said, finally coming to a stop near a pair of large double doors, row upon row of cubicle stretching away from them in the other direction. He took one last look at his small screen before turning to face her.

Selina narrowed her eyes. "What's here?"

"The second team was sent ahead as the first one backtracks," he explained. "They'll be here in two minutes."

She arched an eyebrow. "And we're taking them on?"

He nodded, already looking around them at the available cover. "I'll be down there," he said, pointing down the aisle between the cubicles that ran perpendicular to the door the gunmen would be breaching. "I'll take care of the machine gun and draw their attention. That will give you the opening to take them by surprise from behind."

She'd been following his logic until that point, picturing what she could in her head and simultaneously trying to figure out her own strategy. Her head snapped up to stare at him at that proclamation though. "Wait, you're giving me the heavy lifting? Don't get me wrong, the vote of confidence is flattering, but..."

He cut her off. "How long can you handle three of them?"

"And what makes you think I need your help with three?" Selina said, crossing her arms defiantly. His stare broke through the false bravado quickly enough. She imagined he practiced it in a mirror somewhere. Selina sighed. "Twenty seconds, maybe thirty with surprise on my side. How long till you can offer me some help?"

"I'll be there." He didn't ask her to trust him, but in his own gruff way he seemed to be. Despite the fact that it seemed like sheer lunacy to place her well being in the hands of a crazed, masked vigilante he made the statement with such certainty that she couldn't find it in her to question it. She just nodded instead.

So...you're the bait?" Selina finally asked. He nodded once, never tearing his eyes from her. She stared right back at him, breaking the look to run her eyes up and down the man. The man was plainly dead serious and uncommonly capable. Not to mention the fact that he was far more armored and possessed far more weapons than anyone would expect. No, he'd find a way to succeed.

"Fine," she said, shrugging her shoulders, "let's do this."

* * *

><p><em>AN: So, for those of you who don't check my Profile you'll probably enjoy hearing that the next chapter will be coming quickly. Like just a couple days quickly. Chapter 29 was originally envisioned as a single, long chapter. However, it just got too long and rather than make you guys wait longer I broke it up and went ahead and updated this guy. _

_Hint. Next chapter we see the triumphant return of the Tumbler.  
><em>

_As always, reviews are welcome. _


	30. Chapter 30

_Well, this update may be fairly quick, but I had promised one that would come in just a couple days after the last. My bad. I literally had it all written at the time save for one scene. And then I got stopped cold by good ole writer's block. Seriously, I was drawing a complete blank. It sucked. But, I worked through it and here it is...in just about a week. Hopefully the next one will come in about a week too.  
><em>

_30th Chapter! Boom. When I started this I never would have thought I'd still be going this strong. Thanks go out to all of you who have really helped keep me motivated and invested in this. Wouldn't have happened without all of you that have dropped a review, alerted, or favorited this story. It really wouldn't be what it is without you._

_As always, please don't forget to leave a review. It always gets me excited when I see that notification in my email that I've received one..  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The waiting was definitely the hardest part. In fact it downright sucked.<p>

The Batman had said two minutes. In her current tensed, sardine-like state she couldn't exactly check the watch hidden beneath the sleeve of her close fitting suit, but this had to be the longest two minutes in history. She'd put money on it.

Selina absently noted a bead of sweat drip off the tip of her nose, landing noiselessly on her chest and sliding off sideways.

As badly as she might want to adjust her position she knew it would be pointlessly risky. If their prey happened upon them as she was busy moving around they'd almost surely hear her. Despite how well she was concealed at the moment the ventilation shaft she was tucked into wouldn't protect her much from the bullets they'd pepper the thin metal with. So, she stayed where she was and hoped he hadn't been kidding about the two minutes.

God, she hated being patient.

There was no squeak or click of the latch, but the door cracked open a fraction below her, exposing nothing but darkness on the other side. After another couple moments it silently opened to its fullest, exposing the group of four she'd been expecting. Their guns up and scanning, tracking for targets they moved into the room, staying low and quiet as they inched forward.

Selina rolled her eyes. God, at this rate it was going to take them all damn day to move the necessary distance so that the Batman could strike and she'd be behind them.

The gunman furthest to the right turned enough that she could tell that his weapon was different, bigger and boxier. He must be the machine gunner the Batman was going to take first. That left her the other three. Selina watched them intently as they passed below her, spreading out slightly as the aisle widened.

She tried to stretch a little without making a noise, no mean feat in the tight confines, but it did neither of them any good if she cramped up once their plan was enacted. Lightly, they continued to glide forward, each step carefully and quietly placed as each man covered an overlapping arc with the man next to him.

Craning her neck to get a better view through the perforated steel mesh she watched them inch closer. That was about...it.

There was no sound, no hiss or click or...much of anything really, but suddenly the big man she'd identified with the largest weapon was jerked forward, coming right off his feet and being dragged forward down the aisle she knew the Batman was down. The other three didn't move to follow yet, voicing their alarm and training their firearms after their colleague but not yet giving chase.

Then there was the Batman, standing tall at the end of the aisle near the far wall and pouncing on the poor sucker as he wound him into his little ambush. The other three spread out, readying themselves and looking for a clear shot.

Of all the diversions she'd been expecting that one hadn't exactly been at the top of the list. But, what the hell...

Selina didn't waste any more time pondering, dropping out of the ceiling and sliding low at the nearest man. She must have made some small sound because he was just turning towards her when she struck, her booted foot catching him hard in the stomach. She had the gun in her hands before he even met the floor, swinging it sideways and bringing the butt of it into the next man's knee. His surprised grunt of shock and pain alerted the third target who was already spinning in place to find this new threat. He managed to mostly duck the assault rifle Selina threw at him. It caught him partially in the shoulder and clattered away. She didn't give him the time to recover from it though, racing forward and driving a knee up into his nose, feeling it break satisfyingly.

Turning quickly to survey the aftermath, Selina took a split second to divide her attention between the three men. The first was struggling to his feet, still trying to catch his breath and already reaching for the pistol at his hip. Number two was still down but had his sidearm out already.

The whip was out as a reaction, unfurling and snapping menacingly before she sent it arcing toward gunman two. She didn't quite manage the precision of actually snagging the gun, but the thin leather succeeded in wrapping around his wrist. A hard tug threw off his aim and balance enough for her to move on.

Selina dove, rolling right to get under the aim of the first man before rising up within arm's reach. Rather than try to shoot her he brought the gun down like a club, its butt finding only air where her head and shoulder had been mere moments before. Selina grabbed his wrist, digging her claws in and spinning to place an elbow into the back of his head. He stumbled forward and the pistol fell free.

The distinctive click came from her right where she'd left gunman two. Selina dove again, avoiding a bullet by the narrowest of margins, its path gouging the wall behind her. Unfortunately, she realized too late that she had no cover in her immediate direction, only more aisle and an easy shot for her assailant.

The whip was still in her hand though. It wasn't the greatest option, but it was what she had. She came up to a knee, snapping her arm back sideways and searching for her target, hoping he'd either miss with his first shot or she'd be faster but doubting both. At the very least she hoped he didn't manage to hit anything too vital.

The Batman was already there.

He wrenched the man's wrist from behind, twisting it painfully before bringing his other scalloped forearm down at the joint. The gun dropped harmlessly to the floor. He spun the man to face him, following up with a hard elbow to the solar plexus, stunning the assailant long enough for him to take his legs out from under him.

Movement to her left shifted her attention from the surgical precision she'd just been watching. Gunman three, the one with the bloodily broken nose, was lining up his sights at the back of her temporary partner.

This time the whip was more exact, catching the barrel of the semi-automatic and yanking it sideways where it went off. A split second later he had three sharp, black objects buried in his forearm, causing him to drop the weapon completely and grasp his limb in pain with the other hand.

He didn't last long after that once the Batman reached him.

"We actually make a good team," Selina said, surveying the carnage. He glanced at her wordlessly and picked up the machine gun from where it had dropped, popping open the feed tree and doing something to the firing mechanism inside. "What?" she said. "I'm not saying I want to make this a common occurrence or something. The one sided conversations get old _real _fast." She knelt and looked at the three small bat shaped throwing knives in the one gunman's arm. "You're handy to have around though."

He dropped the weapon and moved to one of the assault rifles, smoothly disassembling it as well. "You didn't make it twenty seconds," he pointed out.

She waved it off. "I had them where I wanted them."

He cocked his head again, crouched over one of the bodies as she stood off to the side. It was that thoughtful look he seemed to get when he was listening to something.

"We need to move," he said, rising and moving away through the double doors their intruders had entered through. Selina merely nodded and followed him, skipping lightly over one of the unconscious bodies.

* * *

><p>The muffled thump of explosions from inside took everyone by surprise, some even ducking down instinctively behind the nearest squad car for cover. Montoya caught a brief flash from the thirteenth, maybe the fourteenth floor, but the tinted glass of the outside windows muffled even that.<p>

Beside her, Bullock just scowled at the building.

"You know, if you don't relax a bit you're gonna upset that ulcer you're always telling me isn't there."

He glanced down at her and grumbled something before stalking off to where the Commissioner and tactical units were assembling. She grinned and followed him. If nothing else, her partner's gruff exterior was always good for a laugh. The grunting alone was generally hysterical.

The group was discussing assault options again although nobody seemed comfortable making the call that would take everything from theoretical to actual action. There was still just too much uncertainty about what to expect for anyone to really want to take the career hit should things go wrong.

Harvey had already inserted himself into the conversation of course. Loudly.

"_Listen_, I don't _like _it either, but we don't have any reports of hostages or civilians in there." She walked up as Gordon frowned, but nodded his head at Harvey's statement, encouraging him to continue. "For now it just looks like the freak and some thugs are going at it. I say let em. We don't know what we're dealing with or where in that building anyone is and if we send tac teams in some of our people could get killed." The bulky detective paused, glancing back at the target building. "For all we know the damn thing's booby trapped. I don't love it, but for now we've got them trapped in there. I say we let em rot and snatch em when they eventually come out."

Gordon looked at the other men gathered around. Most of them just shrugged in response. Usually the special units commanders were gung-ho to a fault. That they weren't in a hurry to breach Matakami Towers was saying something. Nobody liked the situation.

The Commissioner finally nodded. "Alright, we hold position and keep the perimeter secure for now." He directed his attention to the head of the technical support staff. "Keep concentrating on getting all the telephoto and night vision lenses on the windows we can. Directional and laser mics too. We need all the information we can get."

The group broke up with Montoya and Bullock still staring at the mound of technical blueprints they'd managed to acquire of the building.

"Harvey, a word." Renee looked up to see the Commissioner still standing nearby. She made to excuse herself, but the older man just waved for her to stay as well. "This is the second anonymous tip we've gotten. I didn't just want to casually raise the possibility..."

"You're thinking an insider," Bullock said. Montoya watched her partner nod thoughtfully after interrupting their boss. "MCU or somewhere else?"

"A mole?" Montoya broke in. She'd obviously heard about the GCPD's former reputation for corruption and greed, but that had been all but cleaned up in the previous year and a half. Hadn't it? That she could be working alongside someone that was alternately selling her out turned her stomach.

The Commissioner didn't react to her little outburst, instead sliding a hand over his tired face. "You two keep it quiet, but keep your eyes open. There's something not right about all this and I want to know what it is." He hesitated a moment. "And be careful."

Several single shots barked out, originating from the building. Not the rhythm of automatic fire this time, no these were definitely single shots and quieter than before, probably pistols. Everyone was staring again at the glass structure, waiting and listening as though something were going to happen.

Bullock just growled low at his own feeling of powerlessness and stomped off.

* * *

><p>"Wait, you want me to do <em>what<em>?"

He watched her pacing, her long legs carrying her effortlessly back and forth across the nearly empty space he'd found for them with a certain grace even most dancers seldom attained. It was one of those moments when Bruce was glad that the Batman stared. Granted, it was usually an intimidation thing, one designed so that he was prevented from having to open his mouth too much. Still, this wasn't out of character, keeping his gaze even, unreadable and neutral, only this time he got to watch _her_.

Selina stopped with her hands on her hips and threw her head back, her eyes closed as she sighed. Selina had removed the goggles and pushed the hood back off her head a few minutes ago, telling him she needed some air when he cast a curious look in her direction. He knew he was attracted to her from the very beginning. Physical attraction was simple enough to explain given the way she looked. Bruce was used to being around beautiful women though. What he wasn't used to was the sense of mystery and adventurousness he'd discovered in her. It was something that had attracted him even before he'd found out she was the Catwoman. Now, god help him, it just intrigued him further.

Still, he had to keep his head clear and focus on the objective at hand. For now that meant getting the two of them out of here safely and relatively intact.

"Nothing," he repeated again. "I'll take it from here." Bruce watched her stare silently at him for a second, her lips clenched before he turned to go.

"Like _hell_," she hissed, pushing his shoulder from behind. "Did you miss the part where I've been helping you beat the crap out of these clowns all night? Seriously? And this is the thanks I get? How bout it partner?"

He watched her, mulling his response over in his head. She had been a help tonight. Despite his better judgement she'd been more than holding her own against well trained, experienced operatives. With that said, she was still a bit of a loose cannon. An unknown element to the equation that he couldn't predict. "I work better alone," he finally decided on.

Selina ran her hand through her hair in frustration. "Charming," she muttered. "That line must get all the ladies lining up." Bruce just continued staring evenly at her, refusing to rise to the bait. She threw up her hands in frustration, spinning in place and pacing back the other way. "Ya know," she said, turning back around and striding up to him angrily, "I get that you're a bit of a one man show. I get that you're not used to...you know..._people_. But, I thought this," she gestured between the two of them, "I thought we were getting along here. Ya know, working on developing a bit of trust. Come on," she pleaded, "we make a good team."

He just shook his head. "This isn't some game. I can't predict what you're going to do next and I can't watch your back all the time."

She ran her hands through her hair again. "What?" she asked. "What're you worried about? Me?"

"I can't guarantee your safety."

Selina threw her arms up again, meaning to encompass the building and tonight's events in one sweeping gesture. "What about any of this screams safe to you?" She stabbed a finger at Bruce's chest. "This is my decision."

"No," he shook his head, "my call. You're staying here."

"Again...like _hell_. And there's nothing you can do..."

Bruce stepped forward, effectively cutting her off and spoke low, attempting to convey the maximum amount of threat he could muster. "If you press this I can arrange for you to sit this one out. Now. Stay. Here."

He could tell she was seething, her green eyes flashing brilliantly in the darkness. She also had probably a dozen things on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she was fighting to keep back. She wasn't going to push further. Not after that. Now he just had to hope she'd actually sit out and not interfere.

Maybe he _should_tranquilize her after all.

He dropped quietly out of their perch to the ground below, checking the thermal image being transmitted by the overhead drone one last time before sinking into the shadows to one side of a grand colonnade and waiting for his prey to come to him.

* * *

><p>As much as it might pain her to say it and as much as she could still taste the anger from their earlier...disagreement, the man worked unbelievably well on his own. It was equal parts awe inspiring and downright frightening how well he moved through the space, both tracking and eluding his prey. Like some kind of grotesque and absurd artistry.<p>

The final squad of gunmen had entered the sprawling lobby in precise fashion, fanning out silently to cover all the corners and vantage points. He slipped by them invisibly, moving through the darkness like it was a second skin and encircling them, biding his time.

The Batman had been right. Again. And that was starting to get eerie. And annoying. _So_damn annoying.

Their quarry had come down to the lobby. Now that most of the other gunman had been incapacitated he'd deduced they'd seek a place to set up a defense. Some place that he'd have to come through in order to ultimately attempt an escape. The task of sweeping the entire building had been daunting with sixteen men. Now down to four the problem became insurmountable. On their side, the GCPD wouldn't stay outside forever and because of the building's design everything passed through the large, open air room at the ground floor. The elevators emptied here as did the staircases. Even the access and service portions of the structure connected to the far back side. It was perfect for their purposes.

It was also much too large an expanse for four men to fully contain, but from the looks of it they were going to give it one hell of a try anyway.

The building's grand entry had definitely seen better days. Recently, in an effort to lure tenants the property management company had begun renovating many of the public areas. Portions were complete, but the lobby was very much a work in progress, scaffolding and a scissor lift dominating one side, while other features were draped in canvas or in various stages of completion.

In short, it was a mess. It was also a nightmare for four individuals to hope to cover. Apparently they were more than willing to underestimate Selina's temporary partner one last time.

The first man went down silently. Even Selina almost missed it. And she was actually watching for it. One minute he was there, walking cautiously by the large, circular reception desk and the next a black hand was clamped over his mouth with a second forearm around his throat.

She couldn't actually see much after that.

It didn't take long for the remaining three to realize something was wrong though, gathering to look for their missing fourth. They found him tethered upside down and unconscious, hanging from one of the galvanized steel scaffolds that extended to the ceiling.

They didn't split up again after that. Hell, even their demeanor seemed to shift subtly, more nervous and jittery than before, prone to overreacting to even the slightest of sounds echoing through the chamber.

Not that she could really blame them.

Even Selina had lost sight of the Batman at that point, the dimly lit room along with the multitudes of places to conceal himself working against even her. Because of that she didn't see the next move coming. He dropped off one of the large, decorative beams crisscrossing the ceiling and dove, swinging around towards the three of them from their side on the end of one of his cables and catching the gunman bringing up their rear. He didn't manage to shout, but his finger tightened in reaction on the trigger, sending out a long burst of fire from the muzzle of his weapon, its tracers spraying out over the room as he was carried up and away.

The other two reacted instantly, spinning and bringing their weapons to bear. Unlike previously though, these two seemed less than worried about their friend's fate, opening fire in the general direction of his final muzzle flashes.

Then they reloaded and continued firing, widening the arc they were covering and perforating everything in sight. Then they reloaded yet again and continued.

Portions of the half constructed wall and its temporary supports began to give way on the upper floor wrapping the perimeter of the lobby. Tarps, shredded by bullets began floating down as wood beams groaned and cracked under the additional strain, eventually giving way. Then more loosened and fell. Then even more. It was a domino effect. Support scaffolding helping to support several sections of columns, wall, and stairways crumbling and alternately causing yet more to collapse.

And somewhere amongst all of that was the Batman.

Selina was out of her crouch and on her feet without thinking, dropping lightly to the nearest column and sliding down to the floor before the dust was even settled. She could already see the remaining two men trying to piece together a route up into the ruined section they'd created below her, attempting to scramble over a mangled section of scaffolding. They were likely hoping to finish off their prey, if in fact he'd been in the cascade in the first place. Kill him while he was weakened or trapped.

Maybe now the stubborn ass would show her a little gratitude.

* * *

><p>The first sensation he felt was heaviness, like there was weight all around him, making it hard to breathe as it pressed down. Then there was the dust. A thick cloud of it, clogging the senses and hanging in the air.<p>

Bruce pushed, feeling the weight shift slightly above him as he tried to get to his knees and into a crouch with it on his back. He only made it halfway before something else shifted and the heaviness grew, pressing him back down.

The collapse had been...unforeseen. He knew there were things that weren't exactly stable, avoiding them because of their penchant to produce squeaks and telltale noise. Still, he wouldn't have thought that two men with a couple assault rifles could bring down a quarter of the lobby like they had. So much for the Gotham building codes.

A barely audible groan came from somewhere off to his right. His view was blocked by a still fairly intact piece of the wall, but that had to be the assailant he'd been about to tranquilize. Bruce had managed to throw him out of the way at the last second, allowing him to avoid a great deal of the debris. Without all the armor the vigilante had encapsulating himself there was no telling if he'd even have been able to survive it. At least now he knew he hadn't been crushed.

Although that also reminded him that there were two others out there probably searching for him in his current, less than optimal state. Three if the man groaning wasn't as badly off as he sounded.

Bruce tried again, basically trying to do a push-up with portions of a wall, ceiling, and scaffolding piled up atop him. He made it close again, nearly getting to the point where he could pull his knees under him to brace even better. Still, he failed.

A crunching sound behind him froze him for a second. The dust was clearing now, finally settling back down to cover everything in a thin sheen after being stirred up by the collapse. Someone was definitely behind him though judging by the faint footsteps negotiating the unstable terrain. He needed a plan, even if it was a little dangerous. Anything was better than having things end like...

There was a shuffle in the steps as the person slipped in the rubble, sliding a little and cursing quietly under their breath. It wasn't a man's voice.

Bruce closed his eyes and grimaced. "Selina," he whispered.

The crunch of the steps stopped immediately before accelerating. Her face appeared in the jagged opening in front of him.

"Hey there stranger," she smiled, obviously enjoying the irony of the situation. "Seems like you're in a bit of a pickle."

"You need to get out of here. Now."

"What's that? Thanks Selina for saving my ass? I couldn't have done this without you, Selina?" She winked at him. "We're really gonna have to work on showing your gratitude." She pushed tentatively on a portion of the rubble, testing it out. "Boy, you've really outdone yourself. Think you can..."

Another crunching sound had both of them freezing with Selina straightening up out of view to peek over the debris. Her head appeared again a moment later.

"They're coming," she whispered, disappearing again for a second for another look. "Twenty yards."

"Go. _Now_."

Selina smiled at him. A sure sign that he wasn't going to like what came next. "Be a good boy and stay quiet. I'll deal with dumb and dumber over there."

"Selina..." he hissed, but she'd already disappeared again, crunching softly along somewhere to his side. Bruce set his arms and pushed again, straining under the burden above him, but finally managing to slide his knees up, clearing a bit more room for him to operate in the tight confines. "Alfred," he whispered, "I need a fix on Selina. Give me a situation report."

Alfred's reply was still nearly instantaneous. "Five thermal contacts in your immediate vicinity, sir. One inanimate on the far side of the room and another less than ten yards to your right. A third is moving rapidly away from you and seems to be heading up as well. The final two contacts seem to be following the third.

"Selina," Bruce muttered to himself. "Alfred, she's leading them away. Keep me updated."

"Of course, sir."

It was now or never. He snaked a hand back and fished out the small black canisters from the compartment on his belt, taking a second to prime each one. After a deep breath he rolled them away into the darkness in several different directions, attempting to distribute them as evenly as possible around himself in the cramped space.

God he hoped this wasn't going to hurt too badly.

The small explosive charges he usually used for locks and doorways went off almost simultaneously. Small, and without throwing damaging shrapnel, the devices were intended to be safe in close proximity to their user. Still, he'd never exactly thought to set them off surrounding him while he was pinned under part of a building when he'd tested them. For some reason that just wasn't a scenario he'd foreseen.

Bruce was hoping the small charges would fracture enough of the solid pieces and loosen the smaller bits so that he might be able to make further progress in extricating himself from his current problem.

Focused as they were, the noise and heat of the small blasts washed over him, stinging the bare skin on his lower face and pounding on his ear drums. But, he felt a distinct shift in the weight by his right leg. Bruce began pushing, focusing most of his effort in the direction of the shift and thankfully feeling the pile shift slightly as he pushed harder.

Minutes passed as he alternated between pushing with all his strength and resting his tiring muscles. Little by little progress was being made.

He was beginning to power upwards with his legs now, attempting to move into a crouch when everything began sliding off to the side. The opening before him was widening, now large enough to low walk through. Bruce began gingerly moving forwards, his hands above him trying to help support the weight and distribute as much as possible off his back. More debris shifted, this time dropping something large from atop him judging by the sudden lightening of the load. His steps became easier, powering ahead until he was finally close enough to dive, propelling himself forward and rolling away as the crevice collapsed in on itself behind him, sending more dust back into the air.

"Alfred," he said, wincing as he stood up fully, his extremities heavy from the buildup of lactic acid and use. "Give me a fix on her." Bruce was already looking at the small screen he had on his arm even as he stretched his back and shoulders, feeling both pop and groan in protest. The signatures on his screen were close, too close to be on the same floor. She must have led them up, back into the building proper.

"Third floor, sir. Two above your current location."

As he watched the heat blooms met, seeming to merge quickly and then separate. There wasn't enough detail to get an exact accounting of what he was seeing, but it seemed obvious that she'd been unable to elude them indefinitely and was now being forced to defend herself.

"Quickest route?" he asked. Bruce was already reaching to the small of his back though and extracting several components from their places.

"Unfortunately the emergency staircase nearest you was blocked off. You'll need to backtrack to the building's main stairwell I'm afraid."

Pumping the sticky-bomb launcher he set the timer and aimed it at the ceiling above him. "New plan," he said. Then he fired.

In all Bruce pumped the weapon and pulled the trigger eight times, four times for the the ceiling above him and then again through the first gaping hole for the floor above that. He was zipping through both holes and on to the third floor before the smoke and dust had settled, emerging suddenly to three pairs of rather stunned looking eyes.

Selina was backed into a corner, a narrow trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth and another on her forearm where a small portion of her suit had been slashed. She was staring at him, a small, triumphant smile curling the edges of her mouth, but her hands were up defensively.

Across from her, with a combat knife half raised in attack position was one of the intruders. Gone were both of his firearms, now down to his melee weapon. His off hand was out in front of him, warding off Selina's attacks. His forearm bore the jagged scratch marks to prove it. His wide eyes flicked back to her and then again to Bruce.

Gunman two was off to the side, half crouched and in the process of picking up a discarded assault rifle from the ground. He bore the brunt of her defense on his face. Three bloody, parallel cuts ran from his hairline above his right eye and down across his visage diagonally, ending low on his cheek. His eyes were alternating between Bruce and the rifle in front of him.

He moved first, dropping further to his knees and grabbing the steel M4 by its receiver, spinning it to get it sitting correctly in his hands. Bruce had the projectiles out in seconds, throwing three at once as the barrel rose to meet him. The gunman apparently thought better of his first instinct, stopping midway through his motion to instead bring the gun up as a shield. All three wing shaped blades struck hard, two impaling themselves in the soft steel of the gun's receiver even as the third caromed off.

Rather than try to fire it, the other man spun it, hefting it like a club. Unsure of what the small projectiles may have done to the machine's delicate firing mechanism he apparently thought better of risking the possibility it might explode in his hands.

Bruce bull rushed him before he had the chance to rear back fully for the swing, slamming the man's back into the tempered glass window behind him. He could hear the breath rush from his lungs, but the grip remained tight on the weapon. Breaking the hold he threw his forearm sideways and down, the scallops catching the steel and providing the extra grip to yank it loose.

The assailant let it go, already shoving and swinging backhanded at Bruce. The first blow caught him in the underside of the chin, causing him to stagger a step backwards. The second blow was to his solar plexus. Despite the armor he felt it connect, dropping him to a knee as his bruised ribs cried out.

The gunman had felt it too though, spitting out a painful curse after his hand had connected with the hard ceramic plates. That didn't stop him though. Well trained and experienced he didn't hesitate to throw a kick at the reeling vigilante.

Bruce jolted up, catching the man's knee in his shoulder and wrapping his arms around the rest of the leg. He stood up, bowling over the man and twisting the ankle painfully in one smooth motion. There was resistance and then the ankle popped, loosening in the joint.

That was followed by a scream from the man Bruce was now standing over.

He valiantly tried to struggle further, but in his weakened, nearly incapacitated state the intruder was dispatched easily.

Bruce turned to Selina. She was locked up with the last remaining gunman, trying to prevent him from utilizing his knife any more. It was a contest of brute strength and determination, one she was probably going to lose judging by the slight movement of the knife toward her. Selina flexed her fingers on the man's forearm, sinking her claws in further and pressing painfully down into the muscle. Her assailant just grit his teeth further and kept pushing towards her.

Although he'd assuredly heard the scream he was apparently still surprised by the Batman's sudden intervention in his own fight.

Bruce wrenched the grapple they were caught in up and away, breaking Selina out of it and began twisting to force the weapon out of the man's hands. Not going easily his new target threw his knee up and into Bruce's ribs twice in quick succession. The already injured area exploded in pain, allowing the gunman to regain a little of his footing and try to bring the knife back into the fight.

That's when Selina reinserted herself into the equation again.

Her well aimed high kick connected with the back of the unprepared man's head, knocking him sideways and out of Bruce's grasp, the knife falling harmlessly away. The gunman was on his knees facing the other way now, dazedly trying to get to his feet despite the fact that the wobbly appendages wouldn't seem to support him.

Holding his side, Bruce watched Selina walk casually over and smack him in the back of the head with the earlier discarded assault rifle, dropping him unmoving to the ground. She tossed the gun casually away.

"What kept you?" Her voice was tired and...pained, but still she was trying to keep up her bravado and sense of humor.

"You didn't need to do this," he said.

She turned her head to take him in. He must have been...interesting looking. Covered in dust and debris still, his cape torn and lightly tattered here and there. "And what was I supposed to do?" she replied. "Leave you there for the goon squad to finish off?" She shook her head. "I know you don't trust me, but I don't exactly abandon people when they're in that kind of a dilemma."

"I didn't ask you to risk your life for me."

"But I did," she said, smiling. "A thank you would be nice." Bruce just stared at her a moment more before crouching down by the nearest body, beginning to search through the man's pockets and various pouches. "Apparently not," Selina muttered to herself from a few feet away. "By the way, you're welcome."

The men were definitely professional. No wallets or identification at all. Nothing to provide any kinds of clues other than the weapons and tactical gear. Hopefully the few fingerprints he'd managed to obtain would provide something though.

"More trouble."

Bruce glanced up. Selina had moved, standing near the large window now, but careful to remain in cover, affording herself a good view of the police and crowds gathered down below.

"They're coming in," she said casually, crossing her arms and leaning into her hip. He could already see groups of thermal signatures breaking away from the rest all around the perimeter of the building when he glanced at his forearm. The helicopter was streaking in too. Selina turned to look at him. "So, you got a plan? Cause I'm not really all that interested in spending the night in a cell. Especially if it's with you."

Bruce nodded and checked his wireless link. The car was seconds away, it's distance quickly ticking down on the remote. They just needed to get down to the parking garage in the basement, avoiding any interruptions along the way.

Still, they _could_ use a distraction. Something that would throw the GCPD off balance and make them a little more...cautious.

* * *

><p>"<em>Jesus<em>! That's a cop."

They'd only had a brief flash of the figure pressed against the window, but the telephoto had caught it fine and now a group of about a dozen of them were watching the replay on a nearby monitor. The word _police_stenciled on the upper back of the man's tactical vest was plainly visible as he struggled with the Batman against the glass.

Commissioner Gordon was still watching the screen when he saw Bullock move to his left.

Harvey didn't even bother to wait or confer with the others, holding his radio up to his mouth. "Bullock to all units, move in. I repeat, move in and secure the building. Caution. Watch your fire, there are police units inside." He threw his radio away in disgust, spinning on the stunned Commander Ryan next to him. "Explain, Ryan. _Now_!"

The younger man was still staring at the screen and yet another replay of the fight they'd taped. He shook his head. "I...I have no idea. All my men are here. I don't..."

"_Fuck_!" Bullock threw his arms up and marched away.

Already small teams of men were sprinting forward, heading for the building. Overhead the helicopter darted in, sliding into a hover near the roof and disgorging a six man team by ropes.

Gordon heard the hiss before anything else. More like a scream than a hiss, a steady, thrumming noise. Whatever it was it was steadily building in intensity too. the sound made him turn and look up, following the growing noise.

"Everybody _down_!" The Commissioner was still searching the night sky when Bullock screamed the warning. He spotted the contrail from the rocket motor a half second later, followed soon thereafter by the quickly growing glow of the missile as it plunged to earth. Then his detective was yanking him down behind the nearest vehicle.

The missile impacted fifty yards away at the edge of the empty parking lot, sending an orange fireball blossoming up into the night sky and illuminating the entire area. The noise of the blast and pressure wave assaulted their senses a split second later, shaking the car they were huddled behind.

"_Christ_, he's got air support?" Bullock was shaking his head and blinking from the overload to his senses. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Gordon dusted himself off too, shaking his head from the concussive sound, but he was fighting off a grin. That man never lacked for surprises. An air to ground missile? Seriously? The Commissioner wiped his hands on his pants and stood back up. He wasn't too worried about casualties or fatalities. The missile had detonated far to the periphery of the gathered forces under his command. Close enough to frighten the tac teams into scampering back to cover, but plenty far enough away to ensure nobody was killed.

The Batman had always been supremely careful to limit that in the past. A few broken bones or concussions certainly, but no fatalities. Still, he hoped there wasn't too much damage to city property. The vigilante had shown much less concern for that than for people's well being.

Bullock was practically screaming into his recovered handheld radio. Demanding situation reports and to know if anyone was hurt. He was being so loud that he almost missed the other call come in.

"Uh...sir? This is...this is barricade three. We have...uh...a vehicle inbound on our position, approaching fast."

The head of Major Crimes went silent. All his previous energy dissipated instantly at the broadcast. Deliberately he brought the microphone up to his lips. "What kind of vehicle?" he asked. "Make and model?"

"Uhhhhh...negative. Something big...it's...it's accelerating. _Shit_."

Harvey was pacing now. "I need you to stop it. Do you hear me? Patrolman, flag it down and _make_it stop at the barricade. Nobody gets through, officer. Nobody."

"Sir," Now the uniformed officer on the other end just sounded panicked and a little out of breath. Like he was already running. "I don't think you understand. I don't think the barricade's gonna..."

A terrible crunch and the sound of shattering glass and groaning metal could be heard even without the handhelds somewhere to their left, causing both men to swivel their heads, craning their necks to see what had happened.

With a guttural roar a giant, familiar black vehicle roared by, shedding what was left of a squad car off like it was tinfoil. Its enormous tires squealed as it pivoted right in front of them without braking before rocketing off away from them, heading straight for the thick metal gates blocking the entrance into the underground parking structure of Matakami Tower.

"Oh, fuck," Bullock muttered. "This is gonna get messy."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Yay Tumbler. That thing is serious awesomeness. I love the idea of the Batpod, but nothing out-awesomes a giant black car with a rocket motor that can literally run over or through next to anything. Nothing._

_Next chapter...the getaway. Among other things. And possibly the lead-up to a nice, big shock. Hope you enjoyed it. Now review away!_


	31. Chapter 31

_Yay, another fairly quick update!  
><em>

_Onwards to 200 reviews now. Let's make it happen folks. As always, thanks go out to all of you who have really helped keep me motivated and invested in this. Wouldn't have happened without all of you that have dropped a review, alerted, or favorited this story. It really wouldn't be what it is without you._

_As always, please don't forget to leave a review. It always gets me excited when I see that notification in my email that I've received one..  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>"Subtle."<p>

Selina surveyed the catastrophic damage to the metal gates the giant car had inflicted. After careening through them, completely removing them from their tracks, it had practically dragged the entire thing to the back of the sub-basement parking lot where they had been waiting.

She carefully negotiated a particularly warped and twisted section of steel before casting an appraising look at the vehicle and crossing her arms. "This is _really _you," she joked, punctuating it with a smirk. "Gas mileage must be a bitch."

And it was _him. _Giant and black and armored and hulking it sat silently, exuding power and controlled aggression. Oh, and there was a rocket engine on the back. Quietly the front windscreen folded back, the entire enclosure rising to expose the two cramped seats inside.

Now that they were this close to street level Selina could actually hear the police sirens and pounding of the helicopter's blades outside. "And how bout them?" she asked, angling her head to indicate the masses of armed policemen outside.

"Won't be a problem."

He was already lowering himself into the cockpit. Apparently there wasn't going to be a formal invitation or even a discussion about what was coming next. Typical. "God, I must be nuts," Selina muttered, crossing the short distance and clambering inside after him.

The whole thing was dark and somewhat unsettling, making her feel more than a little trapped as the entire enclosure seemed to sink into the vehicle. She glanced at the masked man next to her, but he was busily clicking a series of switches next to a central computer screen.

"_Autopilot disengaged." _

She started at the computerized voice, glancing at the ceiling and taking a deep breath. About to take on an entire city's worth of cops in a high speed chase...yep...she definitely had a screw loose. And that wasn't even beginning to cover her companion.

The engine revved, vibrating her gently in her seat as it gunned and the entire car swung around, it's rear tires squealing before the Batman pushed the throttle fully forward, causing most of Selina's organs to end up in her throat as she was pinned into her seat. The car shot forward, accelerating like a missile up the concrete ramp before exploding out the ruined entrance.

The bright light from the helicopter was on them instantly when they exited the structure, bathing the cockpit in weird shadows as the flashing lights and strobes of the police approached at a rather alarming speed. It took her a second to realize that the muffled sounds she was hearing were bullets bouncing off the vehicle's thick hide, zinging off as though they were insects. Oddly that didn't seem to phase her, but that may have been because they were approaching a half dozen police cars and crime scene vans at close to eighty miles per hour. Things like that tend to hold your focus.

The car didn't go through them so much as it went over them, the giant front tires digging in and propelling it up, leaving twisted, pancaked hulks of metal in its wake and a few dozen officers looking on stunned.

The car plowed on, forcing its way through one other barricade down at the street as well as one of the gathered media vans that the entire episode had attracted.

"Are you _trying _to hit as much as you can?" she asked, bracing herself as yet another vehicle was pounded into the pavement by the behemoth. She grinned. "At some point this just becomes gratuitous." Selina arched her back and neck trying to get a look at their pursuers through the small windows to her right.

"We're going to need to get rid of that chopper."

She turned in her seat to respond before realizing that the Batman wasn't talking to her. He jerked the controls hard to the right, pressing her into the padded seat as they whirled around a corner. "No, of course not deadly force," he said, seeming to talk to himself. God, she hoped he wasn't _actually _talking to himself this whole time. "Just scare them a bit and get them off my tail." The car straightened out again and he accelerated, easing the throttle forward. "I'll handle the cars, you just take care of that helicopter."

"Have I _told_ you how weird a night with you is?"

He glanced at her but remained tight lipped, returning his attention to the road. The car took another corner hard, this time catching a parked car and light pole before it straightened out. Selina kept smirking. This wasn't exactly...not fun. How many people got to say they got to play bumper cars with an entire city's worth of vehicles? She turned in her seat again to try and catch a glimpse of the trailing police cars.

"_Warning, obstacle detected._"

Selina spun forward in time to see the city bus crossing the intersection in front of them. She could also see the alarmed faces of several of its passengers as they began discovering what was hurtling at them. One little girl's wide eyes would be etched into her memory. The Batman swerved hard right, avoiding the bus, but mounting the curb and taking out several parking meters, another light pole, and part of a store front, the glass and brick facade shattering spectacularly over the windshield in front of them.

The giant car made it roughly into the street running perpendicular to their previous route, barely avoiding going nose to nose with a tractor trailer on what they soon discovered was a one way street.

Of course, its one way happened to be running in the opposite direction.

The Batman pulled left, threading their way between a pickup truck and light colored sedan, but sideswiping another car.

"This is _insane_," she said, her knuckles surely growing white beneath her gloves as her fingers clamped down on the armrests on either side of her. "Could you at _least_ slow down a little?"

He didn't respond, merely reaching above him and clicking a switch. The throttle folded up into the wall behind them and his chair shifted, bringing him closer to her before lowering him into the void beneath the central instrument console. Selina just stared, her eyebrows almost to her hairline. She was speechless, for once unable to even come up with something witty to say. Where the hell was he going?

"_Oncoming vehicles mapped. Detecting alternate route." _

The car swung left, briefly mounting the sidewalk before jolting back to the right and throwing her against the restraints, weaving smoothly into the onrushing traffic. Frantic horns began bleating to all sides as they jogged their way through the traffic, occasionally scraping alongside a vehicle, but more often than not avoiding them altogether.

"_Alternate route approaching. Left turn in twenty meters." _

The entire thing swung left violently, tires squealing and sliding directly in front of a delivery van then rocketing into a cramped alley that split off from the main street.

"_Warning, obstacle detected._"

Selina craned her neck to look, only to see several large steel dumpsters racing up to meet them. The vehicle shuddered several times, muffled thumps reverberating through the car. The trash enclosures exploded, shredded steel arcing into the sky and scattering their pieces to the sides as the black car raced past.

They sped along the relatively empty alleyway for another few seconds, Selina trying desperately to get her heart rate to slow back down as the buildings zipped by on either side so very, very close. She could see the opening ahead where it joined another boulevard approaching, the darkness of the narrow corridor they were in illuminated by the more open thoroughfare's street lights. Predictably the car didn't slow down, rocketing back out into the street and skidding sideways to the right. The familiar glare of the helicopter's light was on them again instantly.

"_Returning to original route. Warning, multiple obstacles detected." _

That stupid computerized voice wasn't kidding. It was a damn traffic jam. Road construction going on late at night had turned this section of Fifth Avenue into a freaking parking lot. They were already skimming down the median, plowing through a temporary warning sign and grouping of orange cones. At least they were avoiding the cars on either side of them. The large, yellow bulldozer in front of them was another matter.

"Hey," she said, slapping a portion of his lower back that was still exposed. "Hey, you see that, right? Batman?" She watched the concrete and steel grow even larger, the construction vehicle closing in before smacking him again, harder. "_Hey!_"

Selina was thrown backward into her seat, the car accelerating even further and suddenly rising at the nose. The entire contraption seemed to roar and quake around her, rocketing ahead and climbing. Then it was crashing back to earth, throwing her against the restraints and bouncing hard several times as the shocks worked to absorb as much of the impact as they could. It swerved slightly and then continued on ahead.

She blinked. They'd just jumped the entire damn thing.

The seat beside her pulled back, the Batman rising back out of his little hole and sliding back into the driver's space while the throttle returned to its position. He reached back up and closed several switches. Selina bent over to look into the small cockpit he'd descended into, glancing at him in bewilderment when she straightened back up, lightly shaking her head.

"I take it back," she laughed. "Weird doesn't even begin to describe this."

* * *

><p>Both men watched on incredulously as the black tank took another corner at full speed, crashing through the end of a parked car and sending it spinning before it improbably accelerated, straightening out on Seventeenth Street.<p>

The smashed car continued its path right into the pursuing vehicles, meeting the first two squad cars in a crash of jumbled metal as the others swerved to avoid, continuing on after the Batman's car.

"All units, target is traveling north on Seventeenth at approximately seventy-five miles per hour. All available units are to intercept. Proceed with caution, target vehicle to be considered armed and dangerous."

Jay Barro allowed his attention to flicker from navigating the towering buildings over to his partner and copilot for a split second. Chuck's face was screwed up tight as he concentrated his attention on keeping the chopper's spotlight and camera on the rampaging vehicle while simultaneously trying to communicate it's location to the dozens of squad cars either trying to follow it or intercept it.

Pretty much every policeman knew about the _tank _by now. It was infamous. That it hadn't been seen since the Joker was captured made tonight all the more curious. Still, they'd learned their lesson after their first doomed chase with it. Basically that boiled down to following it and hoping it somehow boxed itself in.

That this was only their second try at it meant that they didn't exactly have a well thought out plan in place.

"Units two fifty-one and three sixteen heading south on Seventeenth," squawked the radio. "Ready to set up a roadblock at Farsbourough."

Chuck glanced at Jay for a second with a questioning look, the query unspoken. Should they really try to block the street with a couple of vehicles?

Jay shook his head. "They'll just lose two more squad cars," he said. "No way they're stopping _that _with a couple of sedans."

Chuck nodded, focusing back on his equipment. "Uh...negative on the roadblock Unit two fifty-one. Repeat, negative on the roadblock. Recommend you give target vehicle space and parallel it's heading on Sixteenth."

In another second that issue was made obsolete anyways as the giant car skidded sideways on to Eleventh Avenue. Chuck made the announcement over the radio to the pursuers.

"Whatya think?" Chuck asked. Jay risked another glance over at his friend. "The Exchange Bridge?"

He returned his attention to following the street at about a hundred and fifty feet, easily keeping pace with the target on the city streets. If it could find an open, uncongested highway though he suspected that might change. "That or the Sheal Bridge," he said, "in which case he's headed out of Gotham."

"Exchange is a drawbridge, right?" Jay nodded. "Do we call it in to have them raise it?"

"Worth a try. Just make sure there're units on the far side waiting in case he manages to get across."

Chuck went back to his instrument as the black vehicle swerved around and then between two delivery trucks traveling in opposite directions. Its rear quarter caught the bumper of one, crushing and crumpling it as the truck veered off. The tank was unfazed, not even bothering to slow down.

It forced the pursuers to slow down dramatically to negotiate the narrow passage, wasting valuable time.

"Jay?" There was a slight tremor in his partner's voice that he'd never heard before.

"What?"

"What the _fuck _is that?"

He banked slightly to the side to avoid some scaffolding that stuck out from a building being renovated before returning to his previous course. "What the fuck is what?" he asked.

"That! Will you look already?" Now Chuck's voice was beginning to sound a little panicked.

"A little busy here." Jay gritted his teeth and pulled up as the car went under an overpass. They picked it back up on the far side and the airspace looked clear for a few blocks. "_What_?" he practically yelled, swiveling his head to look at his copilot.

There was something there. Something alongside them, just seeming to float along and easily keeping pace with the chopper. It was dark. So dark. Like it ate the light and was more a shadow blocking the lights passing behind it than allowing them to reflect off it. Some giant mechanical, flying insect.

And it was flying sideways while facing them.

"_Jesus!_" He nearly swerved the helicopter unintentionally. He divided his attention between the path before them and their companion.

"I told you." Chuck was fiddling with the controls, pulling the light and camera away from the chase below and trying to adjust them on the aircraft off their right side. They were designed for exactly what they'd been doing before though, observing the ground or something below them, not an air target at their altitude.

"What the hell is it?" Chuck just shrugged and plastered his face against the glass to try and get a better view.

There were calls coming over the radio now. Calls asking for directions and some trying to figure out where the spotlight that also provided them with a beacon to follow had gone. Neither man was paying much attention at the moment though.

"So what do we do..." The rest of the sentence died on his lips when a ball shaped lens swiveled into view, it's iris focusing on the cockpit and its two pilots. "Ah...Chuck?" Jay began nervously.

Two doors on the underside of the strange...thing, running fore to aft cracked open, folding themselves neatly away into its belly. A rack slid down fluidly at the same time, exposing a long cylinder with small wings down it's sides and a tapered nose pointing at them. The word missile registered in Jay's mind, bouncing around, but for some reason not gaining hold.

Chuck was the first one to react, gasping in panic and pushing himself away from the glass. "Is that a..._fuck, _Jay, break left and climb _dammit!_"

Jay yanked back on the collective and pulled the control yoke over to his thigh. The police chopped lurched up and away violently, skimming the building top nearby and continuing to climb away from the steel and glass towers of Gotham.

Neither really payed much attention past the fact that the black craft didn't pursue them.

* * *

><p>"<em>Dammit<em>!" The walkie talkie went flying for probably the sixth time tonight. "Helicopter lost it. They had to break pursuit."

Gordon glanced up, putting his hand over the receiver of the cell phone. "And the chase cars?"

"Fucking thing drove right through an old building on Fleeting. Pretty much brought the whole damn thing down behind them." His fist slammed down on the hood of the car they were stranding next to. "They couldn't pursue any further." Bullock hit the car again.

"Harv," Montoya said, jogging up. "They got the last of the cops out of the building. Looks like they really got worked over." She took a gulp of air and pointed back over her shoulder. "Most are still unconscious. They're loading them up to take over to County now."

Bullock nodded, looking past her. "Mad Dog!" he called, not bothering to look around for the detective.

Ian W. Maddger was one of the new transfers to MCU. He'd come in from San Francisco four months ago to vice and quickly made an impression. His arrest record was nothing less than exemplary, both at his old city and in Gotham. He'd even managed to stumble on a group of Colombians trying to gain a footing in the city's underbelly, managing to bring down the entire network. It had all meant that when detectives began getting murdered his name was at the top of the list for replacements. He'd already made a decent impression on the Lieutenant too. Not an easy task to accomplish.

Middle aged, small, skinny, and fairly unassuming his pockmarked face and close cropped, tangled mass of reddish hair was less than memorable. Far from being earned through his persona his nicknames came simply from his last name, the most common being _Mad Dog_ or _Badger_. He answered easily enough to both. It was his intelligence and cleverness that set him apart from the rest though. Possibly because of his appearance, everyone was continually surprised by his quick working, calculating mind. Pleasant to interact with, the only bad thing anyone really had to say about him usually involved his penchant for chain smoking.

"Yeah boss?" he asked, turning from the task he'd been going about, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"I want you over at County. Follow those ambulances in and sit on those guys until the docs let you speak to em. I want to know what the _fuck _is going on here and what they know." Bullock finished by waving in the direction of the departing vehicles. "Go."

"On it." The little man went jogging off, flicking his butt away as he made his way to his car.

Gordon was still going through the initial reports. It was grim. None of the police officers that had been inside the building suffered anything greater than a broken bone or concussion. However, bodies had been found. On one of the higher floors the investigators were still trying to figure out how many and whether they could be identified from the...widely scattered remains. Apparently there had been an explosion sometime before the GCPD arrived that hadn't left much intact. It was more than likely...disquieting work.

Elsewhere there had been three other bodies found, all the low salaried security guards hired to patrol the property. Two outside at the perimeter and one inside in the security room where the cameras had been disabled. They were working on their ID's now with the security management company the men had worked for.

The building itself had suffered a great deal of damage too. Bullet holes and explosives damage on several floors, not to mention the lobby was a loss and there was a high explosive impact crater out in the parking lot. No, the Commissioner didn't envy the insurance companies on this one.

Gordon shuffled the papers again, scanning them for the third time. Trying to see something he may have missed. He still had that uneasy feeling in his gut. It was a feeling he hadn't had in awhile, an uncertainty and suspicion clouding his decisions and his views of those around him. He'd thought the GCPD was past the habitual dishonesty that had once plagued it, excised by the revolver of an insane former prosecutor and the activities of a remorseless masked vigilante. The Commissioner found himself looking around at the dozens of men under his command, all looking as though they were working diligently. And any one of them could be a potential leak or turncoat.

He'd have to pick his battles and those he chose to fight beside him more carefully then when he was the head of the MCU. That ending had been spectacular in how completely it'd failed. No more rationalizing. Not like then.

But, who did that leave?

"Bullock?" Gordon asked, turning to his subordinate. "Can you spare Detective Montoya for awhile?"

The gruff Lieutenant looked up from his conversation with the detective and a patrolman and nodded, gesturing for the young woman to go. She looked quizzically at the older man, but approached.

"This is about what we talked about before, detective. About the...thing that needs to be dealt with...sensitively." For her part Renee only looked startled for a moment, nodding her understanding after a second. "Something big happened tonight. What it was, we don't know, but things just don't add up. I need you in there," Gordon pointed at the building, "to keep a sharp eye on everyone. The investigators, forensics...everyone. It won't be pretty or fun, but there's not a whole lot of people I can trust right now. You're one of the few. Let me know if you see anything and be sure to light a fire under their asses. I want their reports in ASAP."

She nodded and began to leave, but hesitated, stopping short after only a couple feet and turning back to face the Commissioner. The young detective was fidgeting, looking around them, but not directly at Gordon. "Sir," she began hesitantly, "about...the other night. About the Batman."

The Commissioner sighed deeply, shoving his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, but said, "Go ahead."

The detective finally looked up at him. "We don't have the whole story, do we?"

Gordon's eyes narrowed. He'd have to tread carefully. "Why do you say that?" he asked.

Montoya shrugged, still fidgeting. "You let him go at Arkham and...and he wanted to talk to you that other time too. Plus tonight and the precinct. It's just that...he's never actually killed anyone, ya know? Despite having plenty of opportunity. Hell, he could have wiped out a dozen of us with that missile tonight, but he avoided everyone." She shrugged again. "Things just don't seem to add up."

The older man sighed. "Let's just say the less you know the better. He...can take care of himself." Gordon couldn't help but chuckle at that, grinning and nodding towards Matakami Tower. "Obviously. You just do your job and don't worry about him."

She watched him for a moment before hesitantly nodding. "Got it, sir," she said, although he was pretty sure she was more confused now than before. "I'll just...get inside and keep my eyes open." She nodded and began walking away, briskly for the main entrance into the building.

"Whatya mean they're _gone_? They're fucking ambulances, they don't just up and disappear." Gordon turned and watched Bullock as he rubbed a hand over his weary face. Montoya continued on to the building. "Alright, Badger, look...I'm gonna send you as many units as I can spare to canvas the area. I'll send a couple to County to see if they magically manage to show up there too. You sit tight and coordinate on your end. Find them."

Harvey ended the call and wound up to throw the cell phone before thinking better of it, instead shoving it roughly back in his pocket. "Would someone _please _tell me what the _fuck _is going on?" he asked no one in particular.

"Lieutenant?" Gordon asked.

"That was Ian," he said, taking a deep breath before turning to face his boss. "He was following the ambulances to the hospital. Got stuck at a red light and when he caught up they were gone. He's been circling, trying to find em, but he says they're gone, nowhere to be found." He took his hat off, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve. "Christ, they were only a couple blocks away."

"What're you thinking?"

"How about that those weren't cops for starters?" Harvey kicked some loose gravel with the toe of his shoe. "And that we probably just lost our best chance at finding out what in the name of god happened in that building."

Not cops. That thought bounced around a few times in his head before Gordon reacted. Could it have been a trap? Obviously it wasn't meant for the GCPD so then what? For the Batman? And if that was the case then why and by who? The man probably had plenty of enemies, but someone that could swing this? They weren't any nearer figuring out those questions, however, maybe he could hope for a surprise late night visit from the vigilante to fill him.

"Nothing we can do now," Gordon said, patting the lumbering head of the Major Crimes Unit on the shoulder. "Shake it off, Harvey. Something tells me you'll get another chance."

* * *

><p>This late at night it was actually fairly simple to remain unseen. Avoiding the major routes connecting the separate islands that made up Gotham City wasn't difficult and there really wouldn't be that many cars or people on the side streets. Running into a random police cruiser was a worry, but one that was offset quite a bit by the lowjack system all their cars were equipped with. A system Bruce had access to.<p>

He rounded a corner, staying at the posted speed limit now that they were clear and watching several bystanders' jaws drop at the sight of the distinctive vehicle. They might call the police, but either way he'd be long gone before they had the chance to respond.

Since plowing through a deserted store front and leaving their pursuers behind Selina had been unusually quiet. Well, quiet for her. Not that Bruce made carrying a conversation all that easy. Maybe she was still upset about his threatening her? That generally didn't sit well with members of the opposite sex.

It had to be done. There was no way to make her understand. Nothing he could tell her without giving away far too much about himself in the process. Rachel had died because of this world. So had Harvey Dent. It was a fate Bruce wanted to spare anyone else near him from facing, a small group of people that had somehow come to include Selina. Despite how much she seemed to be willing and able to get herself into trouble on her own he'd so far been there to clean things up. She was far too reckless though, too eager, and untrained for some of the dangers they seemed to be facing. This wasn't simple theft anymore. It wasn't a game. The stakes were higher and climbing all the time.

He'd had to deal with the guilt and loss of Rachel, something that had very nearly crushed him. It had made him question everything, his purpose, his very motivations. Not again. Not someone close to him, someone he cared about.

He chanced a glance at Selina out of the corner of his eye. She'd pushed the goggles back on her head again and was resting it back against the headrest, her eyes closed and face serene as she finally relaxed.

He _did _care for her. It might not exactly be considered love or something everlasting. He wasn't the romantic at heart that would ever admit to that. Not now at least. Not yet. Things were still too awkward between them, too complicated and with too many secrets still separating them. But it was definitely there, something strong, something pulling him back to her. He wanted to see her, wanted to make her laugh.

"I can practically hear you watching me," she said suddenly, never opening her eyes. Bruce's own eyes darted back out to the passing street. When he didn't respond she smiled. "It's okay, look all you want." Bruce kept his eyes riveted forward, taking another right turn. "Trying to figure out what to do with me, aren't you?" She cracked her eyelids open and turned to grin at him. "Afraid you're stuck with me. I'm not leaving Gotham anytime soon." Selina yawned, stretching out her arms and back in a manner that was oddly reminiscent of her mascot's namesake.

"And if I said I want you out of Gotham?"

"I'd say you're lying," she responded, cracking her neck before grinning knowingly at him again. "Face it, I make your life more exciting. You may not realize it, but you'd miss me if I left."

Bruce just turned his head slightly to glance at her. The small movement was enough to prompt Selina to continue.

"Yep." She folded her arms across her chest, facing forward again. "That's a fact. I'm irresistible." She closed her eyes again, fighting off another yawn before she peeled back the sleeve of her suit to check her watch. "God, it's late," she said, punctuating it with a groan. "Tomorrow's gonna suck."

"Falcone?"

Selina glared at him a second before facing forward again and scoffing. "Hardly. Thought I'd pay someone else a visit." She faded off as she finished, looking absently out the window. Her back was to him, but he would have sworn she almost looked...sad, her shoulders sagging slightly.

"Here's good," Selina said suddenly, straightening up and craning her neck to look out the side window at the passing buildings.

Bruce pulled the lumbering vehicle up to the curb, shutting power down to the jet turbine, but leaving the big diesel engine running quietly.

Selina had gotten uncharacteristically quiet again, making things awkward in the silence of the car's cockpit. He usually didn't say goodbyes as the Batman, normally just leaving abruptly or vanishing altogether into the night. It wasn't making things easy at the moment.

"So...yeah," Selina started, fidgeting a little with her hands. "I...uh...just wanted to say thank you. I mean...for tonight. Things wouldn't have gone as well as they had if you hadn't been...you know, there to help me out." Bruce just watched her evenly. "So, thank you." Selina chuckled. "It was interesting."

He continued watching her, causing her to fidget as the atmosphere again grew uncomfortable.

"Well, not really sure what I was expecting," she muttered to herself. Then the familiar sly grin broke over her face. "How bout this," she said, turning even further to face Bruce, "don't say a thing, remain perfectly still and quiet if you really want to say thank you and good night."

Bruce just arched an eyebrow. There really was no way to answer that. Not that kept him in character anyways. He stayed silent, still watching her.

"Hah!," she laughed, clapping her hands in delight. "I knew it. You _do _care." Bruce just glared at her and hit the switch that opened the canopy, elevating the cockpit up into the cold night air. Selina laughed again and suddenly leaned over, supporting herself on the throttle assembly and leaving her face inches away from his.

She smiled again and dipped even closer. "G'night mystery man," she whispered. And Selina kissed him, her right palm coming up to rest lightly on his jaw as her lips warmly teased his. "For tonight," she said, pulling away and patting his cheek lightly. "Don't be a stranger." And she leaned back, taking her distinct scent and warmth with her before pulling herself up and out of the car, landing lightly on the nearby sidewalk. She turned and grinned at him, winking and throwing him a small wave before sauntering into the nearby alley.

The cockpit lowered shut, hissing slightly as it sealed, but the car didn't pull away immediately.

Bruce sat silently, watching the telephoto camera from the Wraith as it broadcast a crisp image to the car's main display of Selina effortlessly climbing the side of the first fire escape she'd come across, twisting gracefully and leaping to reach the parapet at the top. He leaned back, banging his head twice against the headrest before shaking his head in exasperation.

He really would miss her.

Bruce held his hand up to his ear. "Heading home, Alfred. Recall the drone and I'll see you soon." Then he slammed the throttle fully open, causing the vehicle first to lurch as the gears shifted, then launch forward back on to the deserted street, roaring away.

* * *

><p>The joker card was old, its corners bent and upturned with age and the smiling visage on either side faded from time. The single drop of dried blood on the top side gave it a bit of an ominous look. The knowledge of who it was that had left it and what that meant gave the entire crime scene a sense of dread that was almost palpable.<p>

Detective Nathan Brayer out of Precinct Forty-One was standing back, watching the investigators do their job. He'd already done his. By now he had a pretty good grasp on exactly what had happened earlier in the night.

The 911 call meant that the resident had had enough time to get to her phone, probably recognizing the intruders through either the peephole in the front door or when they arrived down below from her window. The shattered door and busted deadbolt meant they'd forced their way in, probably when they heard her talking with the police. The body lying face down to the side of the doorway meant she hadn't been defenseless, gunning down one of the intruders as soon as they came through the door. It was likely he'd been the first man through, the first one to come under fire. Unfortunately there'd been more than just him and it looked as though the Joker had probably been here with them judging from the card.

The resident was missing, her screams on a phone message and the shattered contents of her apartment the only clue about what may have happened to her. Taken and at the mercy of the Joker. The thought gave the young officer goosebumps just thinking about it.

This case would be passed up to MCU, that was a certainty. They were the ones responsible for the Joker. He'd just get the crime scene processed and make sure there were no screw-ups until he was relieved. That'd probably happen sometime the next morning.

Brayer frowned and cracked his knuckles as he always did when he was nervous. There was still one more call to make. A call he'd been avoiding all night. He slowly dialed the number and brought the receiver to his ear.

The other end was answered after one ring, the familiar tired voice barking simply, "Gordon."

"Sir, it's Brayer with the forty first. I'm at a crime scene over in Jerold. Officers responded to an emergency call about an hour and a half ago. I arrived on scene approximately thirty minutes later. I...I just felt I should brief you now instead of waiting for tomorrow's morning brief." He ran his hand through his hair, watching as one of the jumpsuit sporting lab techs placed the playing card in a plastic evidence bag. "Sir," he said. "It's the Joker."

The silence was telling, as was the deep sigh. "Alright," the other man said though after a second, "Let me hear it."

"Yes, sir." Brayer pulled his notepad out although he new most of the details by heart at this point. "As far as we can tell this is a kidnapping, not a murder. There's only one body and it's not the resident's. Shots were fired, but in the direction of the front door from the inside, like she was attempting to defend herself. The dead body is male, large and heavily tattooed. No identification, but we're having the lab guys fast track his finger prints. My gut says hired muscle though. Anyway, he was shot entering the premises twice, both center mass and bled out fast. Four other rounds were embedded in either the door or the wall next to it. We recovered a 9mm semi automatic pistol that we're sending in to see if it matches the bullets we recovered." The detective walked past another two technicians as they dusted the shattered base of a lamp that had been tossed across the room. "Lots of signs of struggle and some blood at the scene. We'll be sampling all of it, to see if some of it might be more than just the victim's."

"Any idea why the Joker may have targeted her?" Gordon asked. "He's twisted, but he's usually had his reasons in the past."

Nathan shook his head. "None, sir. We're working on that, trying to figure out a motive, but so far nothing."

"Alright." He heard the older man sigh. "I want the full report on my desk when I get there tomorrow morning. Get her picture circulated to all the patrolmen and media outlets in the meantime. Maybe we'll get lucky and someone saw something. Are you going door to door in the building?"

"Yes, sir. I have a half dozen uniforms already on it."

"Good, have them do the building across the street from it too, just in case."

Brayer ran his fingers through his hair again, working up the nerve to mention the last little bit of information. "There's...ah...another thing, sir," he managed. "Something other than the Joker connection. Uh...sir, it's been brought to our attention that the apartment's resident is a member of the force."

Again, the silence was telling. Almost expectantly the Commissioner asked, "Who?"

The junior detective glanced down at his notes. "Building superintendent indicated it was a rented to a Detective Anna Ramirez."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Alright, so no secret identity reveal to Selina. I know some of you thought that might be coming, but nope...it never was planned for this portion of the story. Have faith that it'll come eventually though. Slowly building to it. _

_How was that for a little shock though? Just the beginning obviously, but it's a shock that I hope to build on in the next chapter. Oh, but what will be the fate of Det. Ramirez? Any guesses as to where this is going?_


	32. Chapter 32

_Super fast update. Not much to say for now, but I'll probably have a lot in the author's notes at the end._

_As always, please don't forget to leave a review if you wish to be awesome. Come on, doesn't everyone want to be awesome?  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The Commissioner stared out over the city. From his current position atop his old haunt at Major Crimes it seemed fairly peaceful, the squealing horns, hints of loud music from the bars further down the street, and occasional laughter or bits of conversation drifted together to form an almost peaceful white noise that any city dweller knew well.<p>

Unfortunately, things couldn't be further from the truth. This was war. A war they were ill equipped to fight and which they may, in fact, be already losing. He knew better than to voice that the city's fate may very likely be tied into the fate and capabilities of one man. No one man could win this war, no matter how capable or how intelligent. That one particular man could be absolutely crucial though was beyond question to him. Now if only he could afford to convince others of that fact.

Gotham needed her Dark Knight now more than ever. Ironic that, save probably the Joker, he was it's most hunted.

Gordon puffed on the cheap, borrowed cigar he'd gotten from Bullock again and bit back a short choke. God he hated smoking. This thing tasted like tar and dirty laundry all rolled into one.

"Not a healthy habit."

The Commissioner smiled and turned around where the shadowy figure waited for him. He shrugged, flicking the remainder of the stub away. "Needed an excuse to get outta there," he said. "I hate these things." Gordon removed his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Bad night tonight."

"Matakami?"

"To start." Gordon nodded, then grinned narrowly. "You know, you owe me some squad cars," he said. "Those things don't exactly grow on trees." No response. Not even a blink. "Oh, and you scared the crap out of those poor chopper pilots. What the hell was that thing anyway?" Still nothing. Not that he'd expected much of an explanation. "Right. Anyways, you have any idea what that was all about?"

"Black Mask."

"The new boss in town? Okay."

The Batman nodded. "They were his men, targeting me. I'm running their identities now. He's pulling all the strings though, pitting the mobs against each other and weakening the police in the process."

Gordon rubbed his chin, staring at the ground in thought. "Any idea who he is or what he wants?"

The cowled head shook side to side. "His identity's still a mystery, but he said he wants Gotham."

"And that means?"

"Another mystery," the Batman growled. "Could be that he wants to control it the way Falcone did. Taking out the competition and law enforcement would make sense strategically."

The Commissioner crossed his arms, thinking about it for a moment before nodding. "Makes sense for a mobster too. Sounds like the way they'd think. If he wants to run the city he'll also need to either position his people in the GCPD and courts or gain leverage on them the way Carmine used to. Put together his get out of jail free card." Gordon nodded again before casting his glance back at the other man. "Okay, so where does that leave us?"

"He's coming after me now. Views me as a threat. I'll use that. Try to flush him out."

"You know I'm not really comfortable with that," the Commissioner began, leaning his back against the parapet wall, "but I have a feeling you're going to do it anyway, aren't you?" The Batman didn't respond. "Well, if you _do _find something let me know. I'll send our guys in so that everything's legal." The Batman nodded although Gordon had he distinct impression that was just to humor him. He sighed. "And I guess that just leaves tonight's other issue."

"Ramirez."

Gordon crossed his arms again. "There's only one reason I can think of for why he'd grab her. I just wonder how much she's managed..."

"She knows," his dark visitor said, interrupting him.

"Well, there it is." Gordon sagged, but turned, looking out over the city lights while leaning on the parapet. "Any chance she can hold out?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder.

"Indefinitely?" The Batman shook his head stiffly. "Not likely. No one does. Not forever. She'll eventually talk."

"And when she does all the good he did, the entire legacy of Dent is undone," the Commissioner mused aloud. He looked back over his shoulder. "Gotham will be in utter chaos." The other man didn't move or respond, just standing silently and listening. He looked back out over the city. "Of course, I'll be gone too. No way this doesn't destroy my career." He shook his head. "I just hope I can avoid jail time."

"It won't come to that."

The older man hesitated, is brow furrowing slightly. "Why...do you know something?" he asked. There was no answer. The Batman just watched him. Gordon hadn't expected the man to have an answer. If he'd known something regarding the whereabouts of the Joker or Ramirez he wouldn't have come here to talk to him. He'd have been too busy. "I appreciate the sentiment, but we always knew this was a possibility. It's just one I'd hoped we wouldn't face."

The Batman stayed silent for a moment, watching the mustached man. "The Joker can't win," he said finally.

"And he won't," Gordon found himself saying. He stood up straight, trying to convey the confidence in his words with his body language as well. "You'll get him eventually. Whether I'm here to help or not. This is a fight that needs someone to continue fighting it."

The Batman nodded.

"You know," Gordon began, "despite the past I can't help but feel sorry for her. For Ramirez." He sighed. "Nobody should be subjected to this." He turned to look back out over the city. "I just hope she finds some peace before the end."

The Batman was gone when he turned back around as he'd expected. He glanced back at the glittering skyscrapers again, allowing himself one last moment of peace before he headed back for the access door. The days before him were sure to be trying.

* * *

><p>"I'm afraid I told you before, it's unethical and amoral," Lucius said, leaning forward in his padded leather chair to rest his elbows on his desktop. "I didn't want any part of it then and I don't want any part of it now."<p>

Bruce scowled, staring out the floor to ceiling window to one side at the soaring skyline of the city, his hands clenched in the pockets of his slacks. "We have to find them," he said, finally turning to face the Wayne Enterprises executive. "We have to find her. It's even more imperative this time. You _know _what the stakes are."

Lucius shook his head again. "Listen, Mister Wayne, it's all academic anyway. It took R&D, what?" he asked. "Two or three weeks to put together your little sonar tracker before. I don't think you've got that kind of time."

He was right. As much as Bruce hated to admit it, Lucius was right. Bruce was grasping at straws. It had been almost forty eight hours since he'd learned of Detective Ramirez's abduction and he was still no closer to finding her whereabouts. Or the Joker's.

The daylight hours were often the most frustrating of his day. Those bright and shining minutes that seemed to often prevent him from doing what needed to be done. Half the time it meant showing the face of Bruce Wayne to the public as well, a job that he never grew fond of.

Alfred had practically dragged him into the office this morning. After talking to Gordon he'd been spinning his wheels aimlessly in the cave for the rest of the night and most of the morning, managing to uncover absolutely nothing. Truth be told, he didn't even know where to begin, but he just couldn't find it in himself to take a break. Of course, he knew Alfred was right. Was the man ever wrong? It did no one any good if he was just staring blankly at a bank of computer screens. Still, it tore at him that he had no idea what to do next, no action to take, and no idea where to search.

So, he'd turned to Lucius. Something that seemed to be proving equally fruitless.

He ran his fingers through his hair and turned back to the view, staring at it without seeing it. "We have some of the world's most advanced technology available to us. There's got to be something we can use. Something we haven't thought of." Bruce paused. "What about the trace software you developed for finding Nigma?"

Lucius' brow furrowed for a second in thought before he finally shook his head. "No. With the way it's currently configured you need to actually have the phone number and at least a guess at the target's general location. Unless you're holding out on me you don't have either."

"But you could modify it? Allow it to search for a particular voice print or something."

"Maybe," the older man said hesitantly. "Given time." Then after another second he added, "Again, time I don't think you have." He shifted in his seat to completely face the younger man. "Listen, Mister Wayne. Technology _can_ be an answer, but I don't think it's going to fit into your time frame here. There's just not enough money on Earth to make new ideas happen overnight. This kind of thing takes time." Fox stood up and crossed the room to where Bruce was at the window, coming to stand next to him. "Now, I appreciate the urgency here, but I just gotta tell you that even for you...there _are _limits."

"So, I just accept that Ramirez will die?"

Lucius raised his hands defensively. "Now, I didn't say that." He turned back to his desk. "We do what we can in the time we have. We look and we don't give up. That simple. And," he said, sitting back down, "we hope for the best in the meantime. I assure you I'll see what I can come up with."

The pounding of feet outside the closed office door made both men look up momentarily. A second later the silhouette of someone jogging by flashed across the translucent glass.

"I didn't think this through enough when me and Gordon decided to have the Batman take the blame," Bruce suddenly said, still staring out the window. "I never really took into account what he'd be risking." Bruce looked up to see Lucius' eyes watching him carefully. "He's going to lose everything because of this. His career, his freedom...I should have realized that. Should have taken that into account." The young billionaire walked back over and plopped back into the leather chair facing Lucius' desk.

Fox waved that thought aside, shaking his head emphatically. "The Commissioner's a smart man. Smarter than most. He knew what he was getting into. Besides, it's not your place to make his decisions for him. He knows you didn't mean for it to come to this."

The same muffled sound of feet on the short, industrial carpet sounded again, this time followed by two silhouetted figures moving rapidly down the hallway outside the office. Seconds later a third went racing past.

Bruce frowned over his shoulder before turning to look back over at his chief executive. "Are we supposed to be having a fire drill today that I wasn't notified about?"

"Actually, with the running I'm hoping we're not having an actual fire." Lucius grinned, but leaned over and hit a button on his phone. "Jessica?" Fox's small smile transformed into a look of confusion when there wasn't an answer. "Jessica? Are you there?"

The two men's eyes met as another person raced past before they finally rose in unison and crossed to the door, emerging from the office to find the nearby secretary's desk empty and two more young men in business suits jogging past them. Both men slowed when they saw who had emerged from the office, but they still continued on past.

"You know," said a familiar, purring voice from behind Bruce, "I find that generally men aren't running away from me." Bruce turned to see Selina striding languidly up to him, a small, sincere smile gracing her face. "I have to admit, that's a new one. I think my feelings should be hurt...or my pride."

Bruce blinked. Then he frowned. "Selina?" He'd completely forgotten that she'd hinted that she was planning to see him today with all that had happened the previous night.

"Happy to see me?" she asked, spreading her arms out to the side.

She looked good. Far better then the dirty, sweaty, and disheveled way he'd seen her the night before. Although she'd looked good then too. Like she was in her element. Still, she cleaned up nicely, the simple dark slacks and white blouse looking far better on her than it would on most women while her unobtrusive makeup made her green eyes sparkle.

Bruce swallowed.

"No..." he said, "I mean yes...I mean...wait, what are you doing here?"

She smiled wider, and shrugged her shoulders lightly. "In the neighborhood. Can't I swing by to see a friendly face?" Her expression dimmed slightly. "Catch you at a bad time?"

"Yeah...I...," Bruce managed before suddenly realizing who was standing slightly behind him, wearing an amused grin on his face. God, he was going to hear about this. "This is Lucius Fox, CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Mister Fox, Selina Kyle."

"From the hospital benefit, I remember." He smiled and shook her proffered hand. "It's nice to see you again Miss Kyle."

Selina smiled. "I was just stopping by to see what billionaire playboys did for lunch," she said, turning to face Bruce and winking. "And whether they'd like some company."

Bruce internally groaned. As attractive as spending time with Selina was he just didn't have time for this. Even though he'd been helplessly spinning wheels and getting nowhere all day he was spinning those wheels trying to look for Ramirez. He owed the detective enough that he couldn't just give up. Especially considering what she was having to potentially endure.

And Selina couldn't know.

Bruce plastered on his best disappointed look. Not exactly a stretch considering he would actually have preferred to go with her given different circumstances. "Geez, I'm sorry Selina. We've actually got to wait for some internal numbers to be generated. Some concerns came up regarding this quarter's financial report. It could take a little time."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Has Wayne Enterprises ever actually _had _a bad financial report?"

Lucius coughed, trying to hide a small laugh.

"Just trying to make sure we don't see our first one," Bruce tried, hoping against hope that he was being convincing. He really didn't want to have to resort to being mean to her, but he also really needed Selina to leave.

She looked...less than convinced at the moment.

Two more Wayne Enterprises employees hurried by, squeezing past the two executives and their guest in the hallway outside he anteroom to Lucius' office.

"Will someone tell me what the hell is going on around here?" Bruce asked no one in particular, peering curiously after them.  
>Lucius was already walking after them though, his own curiosity piqued. Selina didn't waste any time either, grabbing his hand and pulling Bruce along. "Come on, rich boy," she remarked, still smirking.<p>

There was a crowd gathered. Far more than had cruised past Lucius' office. At the end of the hallway there was a fairly open office area with numerous windowed doors along its perimeter leading to more private, spacious rooms. Middle management Bruce suddenly realized, followed soon thereafter by the dawning realization that he'd never stepped foot in this area before despite it being less than twenty yards from Fox's suite. A place he'd been dozens and dozens of times.

Maybe that was a sign that he needed to get a little more familiar with his family's company.

Grouped around a desk in the receiving area for this particular room, the crowd was nearly five deep and deathly silent, barely even murmuring to one another. They were watching the large flat screen monitor at the center of the desk.

He couldn't see the screen from where he was, but he could hear it clearly enough.

"_Good _afternoon...ah...Gotham."

Joker. The voice was unmistakable, the tone and inflection burned into the memories of all who had lived through his reign of terror. Bruce stilled, the blood in his veins seeming to chill.

This time it was Bruce leading the way, followed closely by Selina and Fox. He wedged his way between several employees, making his way to the front of the group. Several grumbled, but stopped abruptly when they realized who he was. Others left hurriedly, likely trying to appear as though they were getting back to work.

It was a web camera he realized, the horror of the situation building. Linked to a website and broadcasting streaming, live video the Joker had been able to figure out how to broadcast the damning news to as large an audience as possible. There would, quite literally, be no way to shut this down now.

The Joker had his face close to the camera, its lens picking up clearly the ugly scars that gave him his disturbing appearance. "So, I go away for...awhile and come back, only to learn that you're _all _being lied to. Now, nobody likes...a...a liar," he was saying. He licked his lips, running his tongue over the scars and stepped back from the camera, one Bruce realized was stationary. Probably on a tripod. "But _who _you ask? How about the..._very_ people responsible for keeping you _safe_...at night..."

Bruce turned away from the monitor, taking care to speak low enough so that Selina couldn't hear him. "Can we track this?" he whispered to Lucius. "Trace the IP address or something?"

Lucius glanced at him before nodding slowly. "Give me a minute," he whispered back, leaving immediately for a nearby work station. Bruce turned back to the monitor and the crowd of employees around him.

"...figured you wouldn't take...uh..._my_ word for it. _So_, I happen to have a...surprise guest." The Joker stepped out of the way, exposing a disheveled, seated Anna Ramirez and a vacantly grinning Harleen Quinzel casually leaning over her.

The detective had her arms behind her, chained to the back of the uncomfortable steel chair she was sitting on. Several small cuts and bruises could be seen on her exposed upper arms along with a bit of dried blood at the corner of her mouth. She was covered in a sheen of perspiration, her wet, stringy hair hanging partially in front of her face. She was also shivering.

"So, _detective..." _

She shook her head, her eyes clamping shut rather than watch him approach her. "Please..."

"Ah, let's not be that...way. That's just no..._fun._" He growled the last part menacingly, leaning in close to her so that his nose was almost rubbing along her cheek. Ramirez recoiled, shaking a little as she quietly cried. Glancing up the psychotic fugitive cocked his head to the crazed woman behind her.

Until then Quinzel had seemed completely disinterested in the events transpiring in front of her, casually balancing a sawed off shotgun against her shoulder. The small grin on her face was empty, as though it were painted on as dull, unseeing eyes stared out into space from a face cocked weirdly to the side.

She was still in her doctor's coat. The long, white, flowing garment tattered and dirty with old blood stains splayed across it grotesquely. Bruce couldn't see what she wore lower on her body, but she had an old, worn red sweater beneath the coat with faded black diamonds running across the chest. Quinzel had also painted her face to resemble the Joker. A solid mask of caked black grease paint covering her eyes, parts of her cheeks, and the bridge of her nose while bright crimson lipstick lined her lips. Greasy and matted, her dirty blond hair was messily pulled back into two asymmetrical pigtails giving the whole image a perverted, almost child-like quality.

The psychologist had truly gone over the edge.

She snapped to attention at his gesture, the smile widening to take over her whole face. The eyes stayed lifeless though, like there was no spark left in them, no soul. It never changed, the hollow smile stretched across her face never altering as she brought the butt of the shotgun down between the restrained police officer's shoulder blades. If anything the grin seemed to improbably widen even further.

Bruce felt Selina tense beside him and she edged closer, wrapping his arm with hers. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the screen though, forcing himself to watch every last second.

The former psychologist walked lightly away, out of the camera's view, leaving only the Joker and his prey.

"_So_ where...uh...where were we?"

Ramirez shook her head again. "I...can't."

Lucius came back up next to Bruce and shook his head sadly. "Take too long," he whispered. "An hour to trace the IP, at least. And there's no guarantee that they'll even be at whatever address we manage to get."

Bruce nodded numbly and turned back to the screen. Lucius continued standing right where he was.

"Oh...I think you're going to tell me _and all_ the nice people...watching. You _are _a cop after all. Wouldn't want the wrong..._man..._accused of something. _Right_?"

She was still shaking when he struck her across the face, jolting her entire body. He bent over, again pressing his face close to hers.

"It wasn't..." Ramirez squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head and sobbed before squeaking out a sentence. "He...Batman didn't...do it."

"_Hah_!" The Joker jumped back up, sliding off screen as the detective hung her head, still quaking slightly. "Well if not _the Batman_...then...uh..._who_?" Ramirez hesitated. "_Say it_!" he growled malevolently from off screen.

Bruce almost missed the moment it happened. The fraction of an instant when the young woman took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

Anna Ramirez's expression had changed when her head rose up again. Gone was the frightened, beaten woman at the mercy of a madman. She set her jaw, glaring at the camera from beneath her matted hair...and the man standing beside it. There were streaks from the tears clearly visible on her cheeks alongside the other effects of her capture by the madman and his disciple, but there was no more desperation or sadness evident. In the end it was her eyes that communicated everything, a sudden clear determination and purpose visible suddenly.

Bruce's stomach turned. She'd just accepted her fate. A fact that meant...

"No..." he whispered softly.

Selina turned to look up at him. "No, what?"

"It was me," the voice on the screen said, her voice quiet but forceful and clear. "_I_ killed them."

The Joker's jubilation was gone in an instant. "Wait..._what_?" he breathed, sounding completely blindsided, the shock in his voice clearly audible. The time it took for him to recover was probably the only thing that allowed Ramirez to continue speaking.

"I killed them," she repeated, speaking faster and more forcefully now, her unblinking stare directed at the camera. "I was on Maroni's payroll. So was Wuertz. I was paid to...arrange for Harvey Dent and Rachael Dawes to meet their deaths. Detective Wuertz was going to talk because his guilt got the better of him and I...I had to take care of him too. Then, later, I had to kill Harvey Dent when he went to Commissioner Gordon and the Batman with the truth."

"_Quiet!" _The Joker was heading for her now, finally snapping out of his stunned stupor. You could see the flash to the side of the camera as he moved.

Ramirez's eyes flashed quickly to him then back to the camera. "I'm responsible for Maroni and his driver too. The Batman..."

"_No!" _The blow came quick as soon as the Joker got close enough, knocking both the detective and the chair she was sitting on over, throwing them both roughly to the concrete floor. His figure now blocked most of the picture, but you could still make out her face, a new trickle of blood starting down, out of her nostril. "The _camera_," he shrieked, pointing towards the screen before turning back to the prone officer.

Several people around him were quietly crying now. Others had turned to avoid watching the spectacle. Somehow his arm had come to encircle Selina as her grip tightened on his arm.

"...the Batman couldn't defend himself in public," she continued on the screen. "I figured I could pass the blame to him and..."

Selina was holding his other free hand now, squeezing tightly whenever another blow fell.

Another strike happened on screen. This time a vicious kick to her midsection, doubling her up as best she could manage with her hands tied behind her and the chair still attached.

"...evidence..." She coughed. "At my apartment..."

The camera tilted over and fell, knocked over by someone unseen. It bounced on the floor, now showing an awkward, sideways angle that no longer included Ramirez or the Joker in the picture. But you could still hear everything.

"_No!_" he snarled again, followed immediately by a grunt of pain. The soft thud of more blows could be heard clearly accompanied by someone intermittently crying.

Then the screen went suddenly blank, the signal cut.

Nobody moved. Bruce could hear several people in the gathered crowd quietly sobbing, several others trying to comfort them. One person nearby was retching into a waste basket.

"That was...horrible," Selina whispered, her grip on his arm and also, he realized, his hand tightening around her. Bruce looked down at her to find that she was still staring at the computer monitor. "They're...they're going to kill her, aren't they?"

He looked back at the blank monitor too. "There's always hope," he lied.

In his heart he knew there wasn't.

* * *

><p>The remains of Anna Ramirez were found close to midnight on the banks of the Gotham River by a group of longshoremen working the graveyard shift near the point where the tributary meets the Atlantic Ocean. Although merely a formality, she was pronounced dead at the scene by emergency medical personnel.<p>

An autopsy was performed the next afternoon, determining the time and exact cause of death. Having no family to be released to her body was instead turned over to the state for burial. If not for a sudden, unexplained donation by the Wayne Foundation she would have been summarily cremated despite what her final wishes called for.

Instead, the detective's funeral was held on a rainy Tuesday afternoon in early March. Because of her...standing with the police department following the video confession and the evidence she'd kept of her involvement with Maroni later discovered at her residence it lacked the usual honors bestowed upon fallen officers. No twenty one gun salute, no folded flag, and no procession down Broadway. It was a small, unobtrusive and private affair attended by only a half a dozen or so.

Only a select few would ever know the true sacrifice she'd given in her final moments, sacrificing everything she had left to make right what once she'd helped make so wrong. To those select few though her last act would forever shape the way they saw her.

Noticeably present at Ramirez's burial was Police Commissioner James Gordon, his jacket cinched close against the downpour and the wind as he stood stoically with the few other well wishers in attendance.

Unnoticed, however, was a solitary figure watching from nearby, his features hidden by a hood and dark umbrella. A man instantly recognizable to almost anyone in Gotham should they have cared to look closely. He stayed after the rest, when the casket was covered over and the cars had left.

Finally alone, Bruce Wayne quietly thanked the detective and paid his final respects.

* * *

><p>The rain didn't let up that night, falling incessantly from clouds that hung low in the sky, seeming to create a roiling blanket that draped over the city. The dull roar of the drops pounding on acres of pavement and steel towers provided a fitting, mournful score to the entire scene.<p>

Several hours before dawn, half a day since the detective's body was laid to rest a single, brilliant, cleansing light blinked into existence, piercing the cloudy, rain choked sky above Gotham City. Unseen in well over a year by any of its citizens or criminals the bright, shining beacon was a warning to some and a reminder to all. Otherwordly, it reflected a strange, dark shape off the angry, low hanging cover blanketing the spires and glass towers of the metropolis. Distinctive and unmistakable in its meaning it signaled a sudden change in the fabric of Gotham City, a warning that the night was no longer a haven while simultaneously calling for help from her Dark Knight.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Alright, so obviously this was a rather big chapter plot wise. I know it could possibly be unpopular to some who were big fans of my characterization of Ramirez, but this was intended and indeed a key plot point since the very beginning. One way or another Anna Ramirez was always going to die at the hands of the Joker. AND equally importantly, she was also going to heap the blame for the murders blamed on the Batman (but done by Harvey Dent) on herself in her final, selfless act. That she appeared as much as she did was my attempt to make her matter in the story before this and to make her sympathetic. In the end she not only took responsibility for what she did, but she removed the blame from those who least deserved it. She went out a hero.  
><em>

_This story starts with a quote regarding the creation of a Legend said from Rha's al Ghul to Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins. Hell, it's the name of this story. However, to me there was a always a giant gaping hole based on the ending of the Dark Knight. How can Batman become a legend if he's a wanted cop killer and murderer? He can be feared...he can be misunderstood and mysterious...but he can't be a killer. Besides being against Batman's character people don't romanticize or strive to live up to an ideal that a murderer presents. And so, he needed to be proven innocent to become that legend. Proven innocent, but not shown to be a liar or deceiver by putting the blame back on Dent. This is what I came up with all those months ago in answer to that question. I just hope you liked it and the direction it just twisted things._

_Next chapter...we get to see the triumphant return of Batman to the roof of the MCU...and a few new faces there to greet him._


	33. Chapter 33

_A little bit of slower update this time, but hopefully that's compensated by the fact that it's nice and long. Almost to 200,000 words now with this story. Will undoubtedly hit that mark next chapter. Still hard for me to believe I've gotten this much done and in the rearview mirror. Again, thanks for all the support, praise, and constructive criticism.  
><em>

_As always, please don't forget to leave a review if you wish to be awesome. Come on, doesn't everyone want to be awesome?  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The rain had ebbed somewhat as the morning's light approached somewhere over the horizon, falling now sporadically more as a light mist than the heavier raindrops of earlier that had so soaked the city. It was still chillingly cold though from the front that had accompanied the passing storm, a frigidness that seemed to have a way of reaching through whatever layers of clothing one was wearing straight to the bone.<p>

Janice Porter angled her umbrella as best she could against what was left of the rain and stared up again at the beam of light playing over the roiling clouds overhead. It wasn't especially clear despite the crisp symbol the Commissioner had had cut from a plate of steel and welded in place over the spotlight he'd had moved up to the roof of the Major Crimes Unit. The beam of light itself was iconic of course, easily visible for almost a mile as it angled up between the spires of Gotham. The lit symbol against the clouds though was fuzzy at best, merely a rough, darkened shape amidst the pool of light where it struck its backdrop. Still, the Commissioner had assured them all that it would work. It always had in the past.

The District Attorney glanced at the Commissioner.

Gordon, as usual, was wrapped in his old overcoat, leaning into the rain, but seeming not to notice as it slowly drenched him, plastering his graying hair to his head. He had his back to her though, his focus alternating between the beam of brilliant light nearby and the city stretching out below them as he stood near the edge of the roof, his shoulders hunched in an effort to ward off the cold, wet night.

Bullock, Montoya, and two other MCU detectives were to Porter's left, huddled in a rough circle as they waited. Despite standing near to one another they were quiet, casting looks out into the rain and at the neighboring buildings and sky. Whether it was because of the solemn occasion or simply the misery the evening was wreaking on them she didn't know.

The Lieutenant had his trademark hat on, shielding the majority of his head from the rain. Like the Commissioner though, his trench coat was thoroughly soaked through. The entire bulk of the man practically radiated annoyance and barely contained anger. He for one was _not _happy to be on this particular rooftop at the moment. Not that any of them really were given the weather, but he in particular was in a foul mood from the recent events.

Bullock's partner was leaning against a nearby wall, trying her best to stay under what meager shelter it could provide and mostly failing to stay dry. She had the hood from the dark sweatshirt underneath her jacket pulled up and over her head, only the ends of her long, dark hair emerging out from beneath it to get wet. She had her arms crossed, feigning nonchalance, but the lawyer had seen the spark of curiosity and interest in her eyes earlier. She, for one, was excited.

Janice, like the rest of them, save perhaps Bullock, was anxiously awaiting their possible meeting with the Batman, their curiosity building as the minutes ticked by. Only Gordon really knew what the man was like outside of rumors, fairy tales and encounters that lasted the merest of seconds. They were all trying to pretend to be anything other than completely intrigued.

Of course, that they'd all been waiting on that rooftop for the better part of two hours in less-than-pleasant conditions had put something of a damper on things. Now they merely waited until Gordon decided to call it a night. Something he was showing no intention of doing.

Janice checked her watch again, adjusting her grip on the handle of the umbrella before looking back out over the city. God, what the hell was she even doing here? Curiosity was one thing, but here she was, Gotham's acting District Attorney and she was waiting on a rooftop in the rain to meet with a vigilante and one-time murder suspect.

Right, because this would look good in an election campaign.

Just when she was finally reaching the point of voicing her concerns, Bullock beat her to the punch, clearing his throat in something akin to one of his trademark grunts and turning to face Gordon.

"He'll be here," the older man said without ever turning around.

"Sir, we've been up here over two hours. It's freezin'. No offense, but...he ain't comin'."

"Harvey," Gordon said, now turning partially to face his Lieutenant. He may have been directly addressing the head of Major Crimes, but Porter had no doubt he was speaking to everyone on the roof, "we hunted the man for over a year. I think we at least owe him a little patience. Give it a chance. He'll be here."

Patience was apparently not a virtue for the rugged head of the MCU judging by the way he shuffled his feet in the gravel covered roof angrily, muttering under his breath. The Commissioner had fought to keep this little meeting limited to just himself. Bullock had very succinctly told him what he thought of that, saying that if he was going to be forced to cover for the freak and involved in what he termed "this fucked up farce" then he was going to be here whether the Commissioner liked it or not.

Everyone else started jumping on board after that.

Now the older, mustached man seemed to just be trying to ignore the rest of them, keeping his back to them and staring off into the gently falling rain. Apparently he had patience in spades. Janice muttered something obscene under her breath and went back to her phone, the small light from its screen illuminating the little pocket of darkness beneath her umbrella.

* * *

><p>"Still tallying only the six on the roof. Anything new?"<p>

"No, not in the last five minutes," came the droll reply. "Still registering only those contacts, sir."

Bruce squinted again, staring intently through the monocle at the distant rooftop where the pillar of yellow-white light was originating before switching back to the telescopic view the drone was providing from some unseen vantage point.

He'd been working his way from rooftop to rooftop over the last hour and a half, meticulously searching for anything that might indicate a trap while the Wraith circled and did its own investigating far above. He'd now made the circuit twice and still found nothing.

It wasn't that he didn't trust the Commissioner. Hell, he trusted him as much as any man. As much as Alfred even. It was the attendance of the others he was questioning. Bullock had been his hunter for a long time now and was notorious for carrying a grudge. If this was an amicable meeting then his inclusion was...curious.

Porter was also something of a wild card. He didn't know her and hadn't had the time to really get a good feel for how Harvey Dent's replacement thought and what she believed. It was a sign of just how busy he'd been that he'd yet to profile such an integral cog in Gotham's criminal justice system. For all he knew she'd ordered his capture and forced this course of action on the Commissioner, appearing personally to ensure things went according to plan.

Only there was nothing to indicate anything of the sort.

Even had this been a trap he was almost positive Gordon would have figured out a way to subtly signal him. Some sign to warn him off. Either such a signal had been so subtle as to be unreadable or there wasn't one coming.

In the end it all came down to a decision, to assessing the risks and perhaps even taking a leap of faith. Bruce had prepared about as much as he could and completed all the scouting possible save doing room by room searches of the adjacent structures. Something that was just plain unfeasible.

There really was nothing left to do but to either take the plunge or head home.

"Alfred," Bruce said, rising to his feet, "I'm going to go take a closer look. Keep an eye out."

"Of course, Master Wayne. _Do_ be careful."

* * *

><p>Porter was still staring at her watch when the minute hand ticked over to indicate that it was now exactly three forty-five in the morning. The rain had stopped completely around twenty minutes earlier, allowing her to finally close and lower her umbrella, shaking out her tired arm in the process. Without the steady sound of the drizzle the whole scene was almost awkwardly silent, everyone still seeming content to stand quietly.<p>

Very little had been spoken since Gordon and Bullock's earlier exchange, no one willing to push the man further to call it a night and admit that the vigilante wasn't coming. Apparently, like her, they were all going to just silently wait things to run their course and let him come to that realization on his own.

She removed her phone from the jacket pocket again and scrolled through the incoming messages and emails for about the thirtieth time. Nothing new had come in since about one, but what had come in was substantial. Her office had received calls from pretty much every news agency east of the Mississippi River and plenty of others that weren't. The general subject had all pretty much been along the same lines. Will her office be seeking to drop all of the murder charges against the Batman based upon the confession of the late detective?

It was stupid, really. They all should have known that there never _were _any charges to begin with. The Batman was wanted for questioning only in the cases, although he was admittedly their primary suspect. Porter had easily obtained a subpoena for him long ago to appear in front of the grand jury. Delivering and enforcing the document had proven more difficult than anyone had imagined. Things hadn't really progressed much in the case from there.

Of course the headlines and the unspoken fate of cop killers among the police in this city hadn't done her any favors. With the cops all they needed was the insinuation that he may have ended the lives of a couple officers to go on the warpath. Reigning them in was all but impossible after that despite the valiant attempts Gordon had been making. Even Bullock, despite his own brutish nature, had been trying to keep things in control. Trouble was, whoever put a bullet in the Bat was bound to be a hero to most of the rest of the department. In the end they hadn't been deterred much.

Janice tapped the screen, bringing up one email she hadn't had the time to read completely through. It pretty much echoed all the rest.

For some reason the media outlets were also making the assumption that Ramirez's confession _while _being tortured was even remotely admissible. Of course that was utterly ridiculous as well. She'd been tortured. There could be a million reasons for what she said and if not for the evidence they'd discovered soon after...

"You wanted to see me."

Porter spun to her left at the sudden voice, nearly dropping her precious smart phone. Out of the corner of her eye she saw two of the detectives startle too, swiveling their heads rapidly.

He was standing atop the parapet wall that lined the roof to the right of the giant spotlight, his feet shoulder width apart while his cape billowed lazily behind him in what little wind the evening possessed. His arms hung at his sides seemingly casually, but she didn't miss the way his eyes narrowed, scanning over each individual now facing him, searching for threats.

Jesus, he was big. Bullock, the nearest person to him, was a large man, heavyset with powerful forearms, wide shoulders, and the girth to go along with both. Still the Batman was a good three inches taller and almost seemed bigger than he actually was. Maybe it was the cape. Either way it wasn't what she'd expected. In truth, she hadn't really known what to expect. Despite stories about him all over the place there weren't exactly pictures of him besides fuzzy snapshots or grainy video captures from distant security cameras. That the myth was a living, breathing man was almost...disappointing.

He dropped the short distance to the actual roof, straightening up and looking around again.

It didn't go unnoticed that the Lieutenant was glaring daggers at the man. A look that the black clad vigilante coolly returned before shifting his attention to her and finally to Gordon.

"Took you long enough," the heavyset detective barked, trying to puff out his chest a bit.

"Harvey..." the Commissioner began warningly.

The Batman turned his head coolly, almost casually back to look at the man, staying silent long enough to make even the normally unflappable Bullock appear at a loss. "I had to be sure," he finally said.

"Sure? Sure of what?" This time it was Bullock's partner, Montoya, speaking. Her expression made her seem genuinely curious now that she'd pulled the hood back off her head and her face could be seen clearly.

"Sentries for starters," he growled, then he glanced back at Bullock, "or snipers."

The District Attorney didn't miss the glare the Commissioner sent Bullock. He'd suggested exactly that an hour before the group had gathered up here, going so far as to get in a rather heated debate with Gordon over it. He'd claimed it was for their own good. That they couldn't trust him and that there was no telling what a freak in a mask was capable of. The Commissioner had quashed that idea completely and without question.

Janice wouldn't have put it past him to just go ahead and do it anyway though. Apparently he hadn't.

Bullock muttered something under his breath too low to hear. The rest of the people on the roof ignored him while Gordon approached the newest arrival.

"We just wanted to let you know...that it's over. For the record, you've been officially removed as a person of interest in the murder cases of Detective Wuertz, Officer Blakely, Officer Henry, Harvey Dent, Salvatore Maroni, and Luis Borelli. You're in the clear. Now..."

Janice realized she'd been staring at the masked man, trying to memorize every little detail she could when it dawned on her that all eyes on the roof had turned to her. Gordon held his fist up to his mouth and coughed lightly, his eyes widening a little in a subtle signal to her. .

"Oh." Her eyes widened, belatedly taking her cue. "Yeah...uh...the subpoena has been revised to remove your...er...name from it as both a suspect and material witness. You're no longer wanted and will no longer be sought in connection to any of those open investigations. Um...additionally, my office will be releasing a press statement tomorrow morning supporting that. For the murders you'll be free and clear. For the...other charges...uhhh," Porter trailed off, looking to the Commissioner for help.

The Commissioner fumbled a bit and glanced back at the others assembled to the side. "Yes...the multiple charges involving your work as a...well...as a vigilante will, of course, stand." If possible, the mask of disdain and anger Bullock wore actually seemed to deepen. "However," Gordon continued, "I'm betting the GCPD will be pursuing those charges with a certain lack of...uh...enthusiasm."

There was a low rumbling growl from the general direction of the burly detective. This time it drew a warning look from the Commissioner.

Returning his eyes to the Batman he kept going, saying, "You understand, there can't be any official partnership. If asked we'll deny any involvement or cooperation with you. The GCPD's official stance will still be that the vigilante known as the Batman is a public menace and will be arrested on sight."

It really wasn't anything different from the unspoken agreement they'd once had except for the inclusion of the others at the meeting. Despite trying valiantly Gordon hadn't been able to manage to keep the secret between just him and the Batman. Bullock and the other cops' inclusion had been because of either blatant curiosity or simply feeling adamant about not being kept in the dark. While Janice could admit to feeling both of those herself she'd also wanted to do things for another reason. Being a part of the group that dismantled the rampant crime in Gotham City could get her elected. It would finally provide her the high profile she needed, plausible deniability be damned.

Consumed in her thoughts she almost didn't notice the Lieutenant sidle menacingly up to the Batman.

"So," he began conversationally enough, "this is the dumbass we've been after for so long." He looked over at his partner and the Commissioner. "Right here in front of us like we're all one big, happy fucking family." He pushed past the Batman, shoving him to the side with his shoulder before turning back, shoving his nose into the man's face.

"Harv," Montoya began, "don't do anything..."

"Let's get this straight, freak. This wasn't my call. If I had my way we'd take you down and find a way to lose the goddamn key. This city doesn't need a fuck-up like you running around making up his own rules while we look the other way."

"Bullock..."

The Lieutenant turned to see his superior glaring at him and set his jaw, glancing back at the towering man in black before him. "You just stay outta my way, got it?" he barked, jabbing his finger at the man's chest. "We ain't gonna be friends." Then he stomped off, pushing past the vigilante roughly, slamming open the metal access door on the roof and disappearing inside.

They all remained silent for a few moments. It was the Batman that broke the quiet permeating the rooftop, asking, "Will he be a problem?"

Gordon sighed, still staring at the closed door. "Harvey's...not a fan..."

"He'll stay in line," Montoya interrupted, stepping forward. "Just don't ask him to be happy about it. Bullock's a good man. A good cop. He's just a little...rough around the edges sometimes." The young detective shook her head. "He won't sabotage things though. I think he's just venting because he's accepting it."

The Batman watched her for a second before nodding, apparently accepting the young woman's opinion. He turned back to the Commissioner.

"Joker's not going to simply go away to lick his wounds. He'll come back with something new. We have to be ready."

Gordon nodded, frowning in concentration. "Well, logistically he's going to need money, weapons, and manpower if he's going to want to make a big splash," he said.

"Plenty of all three of those in Gotham," Montoya mused. "Shouldn't be all that hard for him."

The Commissioner nodded again. "We'll have to stay vigilante and watch for anything then. People will be more wary of him now. It'll be harder for him to stay low key and some might even talk." His eyes shifted back to the Batman. "I'm not going to just let the Black Mask go unchecked though."

"He won't be." He turned in his place, his cape sweeping gently out behind him and marched to the edge of the roof, lightly hopping up to the low wall that served as a railing.

"Wait," Porter found herself saying, taking a step forward as the masked man mounted the low wall, crouching atop it. "That's it? What happens next?"

"We take back Gotham," he said simply over his shoulder. Then he dropped off the edge of the building.

* * *

><p>The crunch of gravel behind him was subtle, making Gordon smile. It was the first time the Batman had actually given him forewarning that he was around. Why the man couldn't simply approach him from the front he'd never understand.<p>

Gordon had stuck around on the roof after the others had trickled out following the Batman's departure. He knew enough about the mysterious man to understand that he'd have more questions. Questions he wouldn't ask in front of the crowd that had been present earlier. They were still too new to him, too much of a departure from the trust and history he and Gordon had built. The older man correctly figured he'd probably search his colleague out again, more than likely not waiting until tomorrow. There was far too much surrounding his own sudden innocence and Ramirez's apparent guilt that hadn't been discussed yet. Again, things not for the ears of others. There were things regarding both that those people could simply never know despite how much they wanted to.

"Figured you might stick around," the Commissioner whispered, not bothering to turn around. The illusive figure was probably still hidden in the shadows somewhere.

"There was more to discuss," the familiar, low voice responded. Gordon smiled at just how perceptive the man was and turned to his left where the sound originated, watching as the black figure emerged from the darkness.

"Ramirez?"

The Batman nodded. "Her confession's not admissible. Alone, it wouldn't be enough. There's more to it. What?"

Gordon removed his glasses, wiping them of the condensation that had built from the still damp night. "There's evidence to support it," he replied. "We searched her apartment after the Joker's broadcast. Apparently Ramirez kept meticulous records. I guess she was always uncomfortable with her decision to take money and bend her ethics. We found notes, a journal, bank statements...they cataloged her involvement with Maroni. Pictures too. It all corroborated what she said on film. Hell, she even had proof of Wuertz's guilt. It was more than enough to support at least that part of her story."

"That's not proof she was a murderer."

"No," Gordon said, shaking his head. "No, it isn't. It's enough to reopen the investigations though. And enough to remove you as the prime suspect." He hesitated a second, before pulling a small plastic bag from his pocket. Inside was a single sheet of folded paper. "I...I got a note in the mail though...the day after her body was discovered. From Ramirez's attorney." He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets with the note, shivering a little from the cold. "She'd left instructions to have it delivered upon her death or disappearance. It would seem that she...she planted evidence to further support her guilt." The Batman didn't seem to register any surprise. He just stayed silent and kept listening. "Says she snuck into the evidence room and put her DNA on the revolver Dent used. I think she was planning to get the cases reopened again one day on her own. Like maybe she was always planning to take the fall."

The Batman didn't move, his eyes revealing nothing, but neither did he say anything. After a second the Commissioner turned to look out over the city. "What are you going to do?" the masked man finally said quietly behind him.

Gordon scoffed. "What can I do?" he said, turning back around. "I can't just suppress the evidence. Even if it is false. Not without exposing the truth." He shook his head in exasperation, closing his eyes. "We already gambled once with the fate of Gotham. Now it looks like we're about to do it again?"

"It's what she wanted," came the raspy reply.

"I know it is." He turned back around to stare out over the city. "For some reason it still doesn't sit right though. Feels wrong having her take the blame for some reason. Even if she is dead. Still...if this works and she takes the fall it'll also permanently remove the truth about Dent from ever coming forward. The Joker will lose for good."

"He won't like that. He'll come up with something new. Something...bigger."

"You're right," Gordon said again, feeling slightly deflated at the thought. "He probably will. But at least it buys us some time."

The Batman's eyes narrowed. "And you? Will the politicians and lawyers come after you? It was your word that made me a suspect."

The Commissioner sighed. "I'm sure I'll get a slap on the wrist, maybe more. That should be as far as it'll go though. I left plenty of wiggle room in my testimony to the grand jury. Porter assured me she won't seek perjury charges."

"And you trust her?"

The older man stopped to think about the question for a second, leaning against the edge of the building before gradually shaking his head slowly. "No...not completely. But I think she honestly wants to do good for the city. She's handicapped by the fact that she's a bit of a lame duck and kind of an unknown, but she's trying. She really is. Harvey Dent cast a long shadow. It's not easy for her to get out from under it."

"The District Attorney could be a powerful ally."

"I still prefer having the fewest people in the know as possible. There's always somebody out to save their own ass."

"Bullock?"

Gordon scoffed. "Harvey's a lot of things, but a whistle blower isn't one of them." He shook his head, grinning slightly at the mere thought of the gruff man going to Internal Affairs. He'd probably have a stroke from the sheer hypocrisy of it. "No, he's no snitch. I agree with Montoya. He'll make life hell for everyone, but he'll play along. If there's someone to worry about it's not him."

"And Montoya?"

"She's clean," Gordon said. "Not even a hint of scandal. And I trust her. She'll be on board with this." The Batman nodded. "Of course, past them I want to keep as few people involved with you as possible. I still think we have someone on the inside feeding information to Black Mask. We'll have to be careful."

"I'll see what I can find," he growled, stepping over nearer the edge of the roof. "I've got a way to track the Riddler. Hopefully I can use that to find a link to his boss and end things there quickly. I'll let you know." He looked as though he wanted to say something else, standing there silent, his body rigid, but nothing came forth. After a moment he nodded once, saying a sort of silent thanks to Gordon and then dove back off the building's roof, unfurling his cape and gliding off into the now slowly brightening early morning sky.

Gordon smiled. "Nice working with you again too," he said quietly.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Vicki?" Bruce stuck his head out through the massive glass and oak door that separated his office from the waiting area outside. "Where's my eleven o'clock?"<p>

His perennially bubbly secretary smiled brightly before shooting him an apologetic look. "Sorry, sir. I'm afraid he's a no-show."

"Did he call to reschedule?"

She glanced at the computer monitor before shaking her head. "No, sorry. Shall I call his assistant?"

Bruce rolled his eyes and stepped out of the office fully, rolling his shoulder a little to relieve the stiffness he still felt from the gunshot wound he'd suffered weeks earlier. Thankfully it was almost completely healed now. He only really felt it in those times when he kept it motionless for long periods of time.

"Nah," he said, waving off her offer. "Most of the time they don't know where the old man is anyways. Not like him to miss two of these in a row though." He brightened and smiled at his assistant. "He'll show when he shows. You know how he is."

Victoria nodded vigorously, smiling brightly back. "I do, sir. Heading out?"

Bruce was already casually strolling away down the wide hall toward the elevators, his hands stuck in his pockets. "Just going for a walk, Vic. Hold down the fort while I'm gone."

Besides the Wayne and perhaps the Monroe family there wasn't a name more instrumental in the foundation of Gotham City as a thriving metropolis and center of commerce than the Gilchrist clan. Riley, the final patriarch of the family had done well by way of his family's business. Less so in other avenues.

He was widely viewed as a recluse, one of those wealthy elite who could be strange and socially awkward but be dubbed simply eccentric because of their money. He was indeed a strange man though, keeping weird hours - though Bruce couldn't exactly fault him for that - and making odd business deals and even odder personal relationships.

He'd also be the last Gilchrist. Never married and never having produced an heir to carry on after him, the family name would end with him. Not that he ever seemed to care.

His family's business would carry on though. Lucius and Bruce had been in clandestine negotiations to buy out controlling interest from Riley for months now, meeting weekly to forge an agreement that was beneficial for all involved and that would keep Gilchrist Trading open for business with minimal restructuring. It was a deal that was only weeks away from completion. His absence and the delay it would cause going forward were sure to annoy Lucius.

"He in?" Bruce asked Lucius' secretary, Jessica, as he strolled past, pointing at the closed door.

"Mister Wayne!" She jumped as he passed the desk, reaching the translucent glass before she had a chance to properly respond. By now though she knew better than to try and stop him even if Fox _was_ busy. "He's on a call," she called after him.

Bruce just nodded and smirked at her as he slipped inside.

"...understand your problem with the contract, but it's really not our practice to renegotiate when you promised us a service and time line that you've failed to deliver on." He cupped the receiver and rolled his eyes, waving Bruce in and motioning to the leather chairs on the other side of the desk. Bruce plopped himself down into one, crossing his legs and grinning as Fox mimicked hammering the phone against the desk. "Yes, yes I understand...no, I understand the issue. Look, it's not our fault you underbid the project and then tried to cut costs at the expense of following the blueprints. Our contract stipulated that the construction documents would be followed implicitly. You violated the terms of the contract and are thus responsible for any extraneous fees that develop as a result of the pushed schedule." He paused while the other person spoke, leaning back in his chair and massaging his temple. "Fine, you talk to your father about this and see what the lawyers have to say. I'm sure I'll be speaking to you again soon. Have a good..." Fox glared at the phone after the other participant abruptly hung up before setting it lightly back in its cradle.

Bruce cocked an eyebrow. "Thorne again?" he asked.

"Tell me, is the job opening in Applied Sciences still available?" Lucius groaned, rubbing his eyes. Bruce laughed. "That man is going to give me an ulcer. Or a migraine. How someone can be _that _bad at business eludes me. Maybe I ought to have your alter ego pay him a late night call and scare some sense into him?"

Bruce chuckled again. "I'll look into it."

Fox sat up though, shuffling through some loose papers, but watching him carefully. "Now what can I do for you?"

"Gilchrist didn't show."

Lucius sighed. "Crazy old bastard," his chief executive muttered. "You know I've been on the phone with his CFO every day this week trying to iron out the deal's particulars? Problem is, with Riley playing hooky from work we can't get anything signed off. Everything's effectively stuck until he decides to grace us with his presence." He groaned again. "Fool probably just decided to play with his orchids instead."

"Yeah, apparently he's been out of the..." Bruce froze, his fingers left in mid gesture. "Wait," he finally continued. "What'd you say?"

"Huh? Oh, poor Donald's just as annoyed as we are. I swear, I think he's finally as fed up with Riley's crazy antics as we are."

Bruce frowned, the gears turning. "No, no, no...sorry," he said, "the other thing."

"What? About the orchids? They're his hobby. The man's obsessed with them. Heard he had a twelve million dollar state-of-the-art greenhouse complex installed on his property just so he wouldn't have to go over to Gotham University and their facilities."

Despite all the searching he and Alfred had been doing to look for possible lab sites for the elusive Ivy he'd never considered looking into private residences. They just generally didn't have the level of technology and capabilities she'd need. And here one was located less than four miles from Wayne Manor in the Palisades with an absent owner. Of course he'd heard the outrageous rumors when the buildings had been constructed, but it still hadn't crossed his mind.

"What're you thinking, Mister Wayne?"

Bruce looked up at the searching eyes of Lucius Fox. "I'm thinking I may have to pay someone a visit other than Brandon Thorne tonight."

* * *

><p>Another twig snapped under Bruce's foot, making him freeze for seemingly the hundredth time as he negotiated the dense vegetation. He grimaced and scanned the blackness around him again before gently moving his other leg forward.<p>

This was definitely out of his comfort zone.

The woods surrounding the sprawling estate of the Gilchrist family home were much like those nearby, covering the excess acres of rolling hills around his own ancestral home. It wasn't exactly a landscape he was well versed in. Sure he'd hiked it hundreds of times in his youth and even more recently to help him stay in shape, but never at night and never when he was trying to remain silent and hidden.

It was a jarring realization that spoke to just how much time he spent within the confines of Gotham, acclimating himself completely to its uniquely urban features. Here in the thick woods, with the crunching leaves and branches beneath his feet he felt anything but silent, despite the fact that they were probably common noises, even at this time. It was something to think about though. Something to explore should he ever need to operate in an arena other than the concrete jungle of a major metropolitan city.

Bruce crouched at the edge of the clearing where the dense foliage gave way to manicured lawns and gardens approaching the old brick and stone home that had been in the Gilchrist family for nearly as many generations as his own home had been. It was quiet, a minimal amount of light extending out from the various windows to illuminate the outside. In all there only looked to be a couple of rooms showing any signs of life. Given the old man's well known tendencies as a bit of a reclusive and his status as a bachelor that wasn't especially telling. This truly could be just a crazy old man's eccentricities after all. Still, it didn't hurt to be sure.

The greenhouses were vastly different from the mansion.

Located at the far side of the older building, but still within sight, they were ablaze with light, the faceted glass covering the intricate steel work reflecting dozens of individual bulbs. It was jarring in its intensity next to the dark, silent character of the home.

Bruce moved, darting low and fast over a space of limited cover before ducking behind a hedgerow that would get him up to the building face. He'd start in the manor, looking for clues and evidence before he approached the greenhouses, where finding someone was much more likely.

Carefully he angled himself to a dark corner where the building itself shielded him from those few places that were well lit and showing signs of life. An old downspout gave him a route to the second floor where a darkened, unlocked window creaked slightly, allowing him access into the spacious building's interior.

* * *

><p>"You're not welcome here."<p>

The slight, shapely figure of the woman he sought walked out from amongst one of the rows of potted plants, a small specimen gently cradled in her hands. Unlike the first time he'd met her she appeared far more casual and calm this time. Much more in her element. The simple tank top and jeans she was sporting, her hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, along with the gardening gloves and pruning shears seemed much more in character for the nature lover she claimed to be than the business suit.

"Pamela Isley," Bruce said, watching the woman move down the row and put the small orchid back in its place. It wasn't a question. "Or is it, Ivy?" Strangely enough she was pretty much ignoring him, something that surprised him. Nor did she seem particularly alarmed by his presence or by his accusation. If anything she seemed like she was just continuing to go about her routine.

Isley turned slightly and regarded him silently for a moment, before narrowing her eyes. "My fight isn't with you, Batman. Leave. Now." Then she withdrew a pairs of small shears and began pruning a leafy shrub nearby.

Bruce took a step forward. "You're a murderer. This _does _involve me."

He'd found Riley Gilchrist and the other three members of his staff in a large walk-in freezer off the large, modern kitchen. If not for the discarded piece of clothing just outside its door he'd likely have passed it by altogether. Impossible to tell how long they'd been dead, he'd decided it had to be nearly two weeks judging by the two meetings he'd missed with Bruce. Despite his wealth and importance, the man's eccentric and reclusive tendencies had worked against his body being quickly discovered. His disappearances were, unfortunately, nothing new to anyone who knew him.

It was also plainly obvious who was responsible for their fates based on the discoloration still very evident on their frozen lips.

Of course, he'd already suspected that much. Beginning upstairs in the bedrooms Bruce had found the wig perched atop a mannequin head in the closet of one of the guest bedrooms fifteen minutes earlier. A long, green, slender, beaded gown hung nearby next to a deep green, ankle length overcoat.

Apparently Isley got pretty dressed up to play the part of the poisoner, Ivy.

Above the garments, sitting on a shelf had been a small metal case, filled with various makeup. At first glance it had seemed rather ordinary, something common for any woman to possess. On closer inspection he'd discovered its secret. Tucked away were several carefully sorted and organized lipsticks, each in a clear protective case. Bruce had removed and pocketed one for later testing.

The study next door had also held secrets. Journals and pages of notes detailing her research and plans. Bruce had quickly photographed everything for later study. At the time he'd still been focused on finding Riley and his people.

Isley stopped what she was doing for a moment, eyeing him as he stood rigidly before her.

Of all the responses, Bruce wasn't expecting her to sigh, her face betraying nothing but boredom and annoyance. She delicately placed the scissors on the table and walked to another bushy plant on the opposite side of the aisle.

"Isley..." Bruce began.

"This lovely specimen is _Digitalis braziliana_. Do you know it?" Bruce simply stood where he was, watching Isley warily. She went back to staring at the small vining plant in front of her. "Brazilian Creeping Laurel. It's beautiful, isn't it?" She caressed one of the large oval leaves tenderly, almost affectionately. "_Digitalis_ has several unique properties, Batman, one of which is being one of the world's only known universal allergens. It's a defense mechanism. Its pollen causes an incredibly fast anaphylactic reaction within any mammal who either comes into contact with it or inhales it." She again lovingly stroked some of the glossy leaves, this time producing a smear of slightly reddish dust on her index finger that she held up for him to see. "Do you know how long it took me to develop an immunity to its pollen, Batman? Do you have any idea how painful that was?"

"Don't do something you're going to..."

"In most cases the reaction isn't fatal, merely...very, very painful." She glanced up at him, a small, devious smile curling up one corner of her mouth. "In most cases."

"Isley, come quietly. Don't make me hurt you."

Again, she defied his expectations, chuckling softly as she continued to stroke the plant. "Please. Don't think you can just come in here and intimidate me. I'm hardly a child, Batman. Mine is a mission greater than me. Greater than you. A mission I will see through to the end."

"What do you possibly expect to accomplish."

Pamela's eyes lit up. "Change," she said. She leaned against the waist high counter next to her, but never took her eyes off Bruce and never put the plant back down. "Now I'm not going to prattle on about my motives. By now I expect you have an idea what they may be and based upon your presence here you don't agree with me. Needless to say sometimes change has to come by way of drastic measures. Measures that will force others to stop and pay attention. I did all I could, but the time for talk is over. I'm the spear now in this war."

Bruce cocked his head. "War?"

"If the Earth won't defend itself from those who seek to destroy it, then I will. This," she said, stomping her foot on the ground and pointing, "isn't a birthright. It's a privilege."

"The day you started killing people you became nothing more than a terrorist. Your mission lost all credibility."

Isley smiled sadly at him, slightly shaking her head. "So? I don't care what they call me," she said. "None of that matters. Results matter. Soon enough no one will think to turn a blind eye or intentionally harm our environment for a slightly better bottom line. Never again, Batman." She straightened back up, turning towards him and causing Bruce to brace himself. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Dropping to a knee and twisting, he brought his cape up as a shield as the planted pot crashed into his upper back. It didn't break dramatically, merely bounced off, shattering on the bare concrete floor instead, but the damage was done. Both impacts had released the rare specimen's spores into the air. It wasn't a cloud or anything visible that surrounded him, but it didn't have to be.

Immediately his throat become scratchy and dry, irritated by the microscopic particles and his body's reaction to them. At the same time his eyes began watering almost uncontrollably while a cold sweat began breaking out beneath his armor.

Bruce tried to get up, struggling to rise and subdue the woman before the reaction took an even greater hold, but stumbled as his equilibrium shifted abruptly, dropping him back to his knees. Wiping away the tears from his eyes he saw Isley casually packing up several pieces of equipment, stowing both them and several carefully selected plant samples on a rolling cart. He coughed roughly, the dryness in his throat causing it to feel raw. It was also becoming ever so slightly harder to breath. Either his tongue or esophagus must be having a reaction, swelling from the effect of the pollen.

Isley gave him one last disinterested look and walked off, pushing the cart in front of her before turning a corner and disappearing down a side aisle.

Bruce felt blindly around and flipped the lid on one of the storage containers on his belt, clicking the top button located within before a coughing fit overtook him and he had to lean back, resting against the row of tables behind him as he fought to keep his breath relaxed and even. The remote at his waist beeped once quietly to indicate its signal was successfully broadcast.

A first aid kit wasn't a part of his normal equipment. He already had enough gear and technology to carry around with him at night that he hadn't wanted to sacrifice anything further for the additional weight. Even if he had, there was no way to plan for every eventuality. No way to carry the antidotes or medications for all the poisons and toxins he might encounter.

But he kept a well stocked kit in each of his vehicles except for the Pod since its size limited what it could carry.

He needed the Epinephrine now, the auto-injector that would get the adrenaline into his bloodstream and counteract the slowly constricting blood vessels and air passages. The steroid treatment and anti-histamines could wait until later when he got back to the cave.

He began slowly crawling towards the north facing wall, every breath ragged and labored as he felt the skin in contact with his armor's under suit begin to chafe from the myriad rashes and skin reactions that were undoubtedly occurring. Slowly, one arm in front of the other, taking a deep breath with each exertion he moved, stopping regularly to try and regain his breath he inched his way forward.

The car wouldn't take much longer to get here, but it also couldn't cut directly through the forests, costing him valuable time and energy. He figured maybe another five minutes and sat back to wait, pressed against the warm glass of the outer wall of the greenhouse and trying to carefully school his breaths.

His only warning of the Tumbler's eventual arrival was another simple beep from the belt remote. Fifteen seconds later it coasted right through the plate glass wall to his right, shattering them brilliantly into thousands of tiny glittering pieces that extended up into the structure's ceiling and beyond, bringing down far more of the transparent skin than one would have expected. It had already been braking though, slowing automatically when it came into range of its caller.

Bruce began crawling again, the cockpit already folding back out of the way in expectation.

With a burst of energy he pulled himself into a roughly standing position, leaning heavily on the car's exterior before he began the arduous task of climbing into the vehicle itself, eventually reaching for the smooth metal case stowed behind the cockpit's seats while he also pulled at the armor on his arm to get to his skin.

The effect was nearly instantaneous. The skin reactions might not go away until he got the anti-histamines but the breathing would at least return to normal. He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, allowing his breathing to slowly return to normal.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Alright, not sure if we share many readers, but hidden within this chapter was a subtle reference to Second Star on the Left's always fun Megalomania and it's focal character and her family. Cookie to those who saw it. _

_Other things...the names of the victims you might not know that were attributed to Batman (and later Ramirez). Officers Blakely and Henry are the names I gave to the two cops murdered in the hospital by the Joker when he released Two Face. Although they weren't killed by Dent, their deaths would likely have been attributed to him rather than the Joker. Luis Borelli is the name I gave Sal Maroni's driver that took a bullet to the back of the head. Detective Wuertz, Harvey Dent, and Salvatore Maroni you should know by now._

_The plant Ivy used isn't actually real. I made it up. So is the whole "universal allergen" thing. I liked giving Ivy a way to use her plants as her weapon. The treatment of an anaphylactic reaction though is fairly accurate._

_Fair warning. Mass Effect 3 comes out in the next week or so. That WILL absolutely delay this story. Sorry. No offense, but Arkham City and Call of Duty have nothing on Mass Effect in my book.  
><em>


	34. Chapter 34

_You've waited so long that I'll just skip right to the story...  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>It was initially a steady beeping that pulled Bruce out of his semi-conscious state, opening his eyes to see a blurry image of what would, at first glance, be a rather normal hospital room. The stark, sterile white walls and relatively unadorned, functional environment gave it away almost as much as the incessant noise of the heart rate monitor somewhere to his left. Once things cleared a bit further the appearance of his faithful butler and the bare rock walls outside the doors leading into the space hinted that it was anything but.<p>

Apparently the infirmary in the cave had finally made itself useful.

The older man noticed him stirring once Bruce shook his head to try and clear it and smiled wanly, setting down the binder he'd been glancing over and walking over. "Pleasant afternoon, Master Wayne," he said, approaching the bedside. He glanced over the various monitors above and to the side of the bed before directing his attention back to his patient. "Feeling better I presume?"

Bruce nodded and pulled himself up to a sitting position, taking in the intravenous line feeding into his forearm and the monitors attached by leads to his chest. He raised an eyebrow. "This a little overkill? I wasn't actually poisoned this time, you know."

The smile stayed on the older man's face, but it wasn't an especially amused expression. It spoke more of a weariness that Bruce hadn't seen there before. "Knowing the people you seem to face on a regular basis it seemed prudent to be thorough. Can't be too careful," he said.

Bruce took another look around at the myriad pieces of technology. "Well, we're finally getting to put some of this stuff to use. I guess I should be glad we didn't buy it for nothing." He shook his head and blinked rapidly a few times, trying to shake the cobwebs and the still fuzzy feeling. "You sedated me," he stated, recognizing the after effects and glancing up at the older man.

Alfred nodded. "Considering that you were discussing going back out last night in that state I thought it proper to make sure you'd get some rest, yes."

Bruce glared at him for a second before taking a breath. "And how bad is it?"

His butler leaned in looking at him more closely. "The swelling's gone down a great deal," he began, turning Bruce's face to one side to get a better look, "but I still wouldn't recommend going out for the time being. With the way the media scrutinizes your every appearance I believe there would be...questions."

"Nothing lingering in my system then?"

"No, sir. As far as I can tell it was merely a severe allergic reaction. There aren't any traces of any foreign contaminants in your blood stream..."

"Great," Bruce said, cutting him off mid-sentence. He immediately began tugging off the wires connected to his chest, causing the machine to the left of the bed to register an alarm when his heartbeat disappeared, its shrill noise puncturing the peace of the quiet cave.

Alfred stepped over and switched it off, frowning at his charge as he did so. He didn't physically try and restrain the younger man, but he blocked his path, his arms crossed sternly over his chest. "_But_I would prefer a more...expert opinion. Your white blood count is still elevated," he concluded, trying to prevent Bruce from pulling out the intravenous tube.

"Not necessary," Bruce said, waving the man away and extracting the needle from his forearm. "Besides, we can't just tell someone I was exposed to some rare, Amazonian plant pollen, can we? Somehow I don't think I come across as the adventuring nature lover."

Alfred was glaring at him now, a look that communicated equal parts anger and frustration. "Can you at least take some more time off? Allow your body time to recover." Bruce just stared at him for a second before swinging his legs off the side of the bed and to the cold concrete floor.

He gingerly tested his legs before standing up fully, grabbing a discarded shirt from a nearby chair as he walked out of the infirmary. His butler followed him, the hydraulic doors hissing shut as they equalized behind them.

"Master Wayne..."

"Please. Not now, Alfred."

"Then when?" Alfred's voice was rising as he followed his master. Apparently the older man was getting tired of being summarily dismissed. He wouldn't yell. Alfred never yelled. But he definitely knew how to communicate his displeasure very clearly through his tone. "I insist you begin worrying more about your health if you're going to insist on continuing to engage in such dangerous and reckless activities. You need rest and there _are _those of us who care enough to worry about..."

"Alfred..."

But the old man wouldn't be denied. He continued on, blasting through the efforts of the younger man to interrupt him. "You _do _have an image to maintain too, you know. One that has been getting neglected of late. It would help to actually be _seen_once in awhile around town rather than galivanting over rooftops. The Wayne name is not one to carelessly cast away and blemish. Not with what it's come to mean. Not with what your father and forefathers have done to earn it."

Bruce glanced back at the man as he started up the cold steel stairs to the next level. "Alright already, I get it. Listen, I'll...repair any damage when _this _is done. Until then there's nothing else. There can't be. What's the point in worrying about how Bruce Wayne or the Wayne name is...is perceived when all of Gotham is at risk?"

He reached the computer workstations, Alfred several steps behind him.

"And the party you're _supposed _to be throwing in a few days?"

Bruce closed his eyes and groaned softly, his shoulders dropping in annoyance. Somehow these things never ended. "I'd forgotten," he admitted, turning back to Alfred. That look of frustration was still there, etched in the wrinkles of the older man's face.

The party marking the successful completion and reopening of Wayne Manor had been planned for months and in his usual meticulous fashion Alfred had seen that it would be as well organized as it was lavish and over-the-top. Money had been thrown time and again at the contractors and subcontractors involved to ensure that everything was completed on time with the structure specifically so that the event would go off without a hitch. Nothing had been left to chance, no detail unplanned. Except perhaps for the Batman's schedule.

Of course, Bruce had liked the idea at the time. A way to repair some damage and save face after he'd allegedly drunkenly burned the whole thing down awhile back. It would also afford the chance to see his family's home glitter and sparkle amongst Gotham's elite once more. A sight he hadn't seen since he was a boy, one he was sure would remind him of his mom and dad and the events they'd once hosted. Part of him truly looked forward to that nostalgia. More than it had before at his birthday when the original structure had come crumbling down.

Now, though, it was just something to get in the way and steal valuable hours when he could be doing more...important work.

"And what do you plan to do?" Alfred asked. By the irritated, angry look on his face he obviously expected Bruce to bow out of attending his own party, putting it on his faithful servant to explain his absence yet again. He was probably already preparing his counter argument.

Bruce rubbed his temple, squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing slightly. "Does it matter? You're gonna make me go, aren't you?"

His butler nodded emphatically, smiling slightly at the concession and walking past, heading for the elevator. "If you want your secret identity to remain a secret, yes."

Bruce couldn't help the small smile that crept over his face. "Low blow, Alfred."

His butler simply cocked his head and grinned back at him thinly as he activated the lift, the aged metal groaning as it jolted and began its journey up to the surface.

Bruce dropped into the rolling chair, flicking the computers out of their sleep mode and stared at the screens for a second as the servers spooled up, their fans and systems taking a second to come to life.

At least for now he had some time to kill, needing to avoid public scrutiny for awhile longer meant he had to stay in. The fact that there was still plenty of daylight left before the coming evening meant he couldn't go out with a mask yet either. Neither of those meant he couldn't get some work done in the meantime though. He still had to attempt to track down Ivy's movements after their little meeting as well as a call to the Riddler he could try and trace. Following up on the Joker and Black Mask were a little more...difficult at the moment.

Bruce settled back and brought up the satellite and Wraith footage from the Gilchrist mansion dating back to the previous evening.

* * *

><p>Unsurprisingly it had been three hours since his charge had awoken and still Alfred hadn't seen even a glimpse of him upstairs. That the man was so dedicated to his cause certainly wasn't headline worthy. That even when ill and desperately needing rest and relaxation he'd instead choose the darkness, solitude, and work of the cave certainly was though. He'd known for a long time that the man was driven and stubborn, but this was beginning to border on obsession now.<p>

The butler would be lying if he said his master's behavior and seeming disregard for his own health and safety didn't worry him. It was, in fact, a constant worry in the servant's life. The younger man needed...more in his life. Some kind of balance. Some kind of occasional distraction or this business with the Batman would consume and destroy him. He'd known almost instantly that a different Bruce had returned to Gotham from those years abroad, but he was still coming to terms with what exactly that new man was.

Alfred balanced the tray expertly with his right forearm while unlatching the metal railing system that allowed him entrance into the tight confines of the old steel elevator. With the dinner still steaming nicely in front of him he tugged down the power handle and felt the vehicle shudder and begin descending into the dark recesses.

His charge was right about where he expected him, sitting forward in his normal chair and staring at the multiple computer screens. Gone seemed to be the days when he could be found working on equipment in the workshop or on the cave itself, replaced with an undeniable determination to heal the ailing city with everything he had.

When the younger man displayed no acknowledgment of Alfred's presence he simply dropped the tray several inches to the desktop at the man's side, causing a loud, echoing crash that reverberated through the rocky space.

"What's this?" Bruce asked without turning his head. He'd barely jumped at the noise, despite the surprise.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "It would appear to be dinner, sir."

The younger man craned his neck to look at the large, red, digital numbers of the clock mounted to the bare rock wall half a dozen yards away, saying simply, "Oh," and returning to the computer monitors.

Alfred fought the urge to roll his eyes again, instead picking up his own steaming tea cup and scanning the screens before his employer silently as he let the beverage cool a bit further.

The satellite feed was zoomed in on a familiar section of Gotham, a transponder signal steadily radiating from one building at its center as Bruce worked on other monitors. It was curious. The collection of structures and towers he'd been studying closely not several evenings earlier when he'd been helping Bruce look for a potential trap. Together they were known simply as the Gotham Civic Center, but individually included the City Hall and Council Rotunda, the Courthouse and Hall of Justice, and Gotham Police Plaza.

The signal was transmitting from the Police Headquarters and Major Crimes Unit.

Without looking up Bruce seemed to read his mind, saying simply, "I called Nigma again."

Alfred's eyebrows rose. "And the signal was originating from the MCU?"

The back of his charge's head bobbed slightly as he nodded. "Gordon was right about having a mole. Black Mask has Riddler inside the GCPD. Hell, as far as we know there could be even more."

Bruce was studying the department's classified personnel files at the moment, scrolling through Precinct 25's investigators.

"So, you're looking for Mister Nigma."

"Yeah." He hit a key and displayed another four files. "Or any other potential spies," Bruce said. He clicked again, this time a little more violently as his frustration bubbled up. "Unfortunately the GCPD still haven't completely updated their digital records. Most of their personnel files don't have photos attached. I'm having to try to piece things together in different ways. Who was hired when...backgrounds that don't add up...that kind of thing. It's going to take awhile."

There were several profiles pulled off to one side. A grouping of employee records that Bruce seemed to be separating out. Oddly enough they all seemed to share the same first name.

"And them?"

Bruce shrugged. "It's nothing concrete, but _Ian _could also mean _E.N._I'm pulling anyone with that name to look into them first."

"The Riddler's initials."

Bruce shrugged, cycling through another dossier. "Nigma loves puzzles. Seems appropriate. I know it's a stretch, but it's what I have so far."

Alfred stared blankly at the dossier on the top of the digital pile as he sipped his tea. Bruce cycled through to another set of files. Cocking his head, the older man read over the letters in the name of the displayed file for a third, then a fourth time. "And have you thought about reorganizing the letters in their names?" he asked.

"Reorganizing?"

The butler nodded. "Shuffling them. Mister Enigma _has _proven to enjoy puzzles. Perhaps an anagram?"

The typing on the keyboard stopped dead in its tracks as Bruce froze, staring at the name in the lower right screen.  
>"You're kidding me," Bruce muttered to himself. He continued sitting where he was, never dragging his eyes off the monitor and the dossier it displayed.<p>

Alfred sipped his tea again and kept cycling through letter combinations in his head as well, gradually building a desire for a pen and paper so he could better keep track of it all. With eleven letters - and that wasn't counting whatever the middle initial stood for - there were a lot of possibilities.

"Son of a bitch," Bruce whispered, breaking the silence before he began furiously typing. "It was right in front of us." Apparently it would be less complicated than he'd originally thought.

The name _Ian W. Maddger _flashed across the screen. Seconds later the name _Edward Nigma _joined it, one right above the other. They both stared at it, each matching it letter for letter. Then doing it again just to be sure.

"Bloody hell."

"Yeah, no kidding." It didn't go unnoticed by Alfred that his charge quickly glanced at the clock again. It would be dark soon. "I'm going to need to see Gordon," he said.

* * *

><p>"You know," Bullock started, twirling his fedora on one finger as he held the door open, "I coulda' sworn we were all supposed to be a part of these little get-togethers. Remember that?"<p>

Both figures had already been watching him, the squeaky metal of the access door giving away any modicum of surprise. The Commissioner just shoved his hands in his coat pockets and nodded, greeting him with a simple, "Bullock."

The other man, the one in the mask, said nothing at all, just continued staring at him neutrally.

Bullock trudged over, but didn't make any attempt at a greeting. He just glared right back at the black clad figure and muttered, "So what's this about? What'd I miss?"

"Batman knows who the mole is," Gordon said from his right. The older man sounded tired, his voice scratchy from stress and a lack of sleep.

"That so?" Bullock didn't turn to acknowledge the Commissioner though, instead keeping his attention on the vigilante. "You got evidence to support that claim smart guy?"

"Harvey..." Gordon started, sighing.

Bullock felt his fists clench involuntarily at the other man's repeated defense of the disguised figure. Anger boiled up again at the fact that he was effectively being forced to work with someone acting outside the law. If it was _any _other man besides James Gordon...

"No, no, no," he said instead, waving away the Commissioner's warning, "...let's hear it. He's accusing one of us of being dirty. So come on freak, let's hear it. Whatya got?"

The Batman just stared at him narrowly for another moment, prompting Bullock to cross his arms defensively over his chest. "Maddger," the man in black finally said, turning to address Gordon instead of Harvey, "one of the new additions to the MCU..."

"Yeah, I know who he is," the Lieutenant said, cutting off the vigilante mid sentence," So, just to be crystal clear. You're saying he's a spy for Black Mask."

The masked head bobbed once. "And he's the Riddler."

Harvey couldn't help it, he laughed. Loudly. It was fucking ridiculous to think that one of the GCPD's most hated criminals was right in their midst. Besides being outlandish it was damned insulting. To all of them. "Mad Dog's the Riddler? Right," he barked in response. "That's rich. What else ya got?"

Gordon though seemed to be taking this far more seriously judging by the grim expression on his face. It made the large detective want to roll his eyes yet again. That or hit something in frustration. Seriously? The guy was wearing tights or...something and they were supposed to take him at face value.

"You're sure?" the Commissioner asked. "How?"

"Oh, this outta be good," Bullock growled under his breath. The Commissioner shot him a glare, but Harvey ignored him and kept his attention on the quiet figure in front of Gordon.

"Ian W. Maddger is an anagram for Edward Nigma," the Batman said simply.

The Commissioner's eyes widening wasn't lost on the bulky Lieutenant. The familiar frustration boiled up anew, this time at his own ignorance. God, how he hated feeling inferior to the caped lunatic, but it did him no good to fake comprehension at the moment. "Uh...anagram?" he managed hesitantly, swallowing his pride and looking back and forth between the other two men, still feeling a little lost. He tried to fight the heat rising up his neck when the vigilante stared at him.

Gordon glanced at Harvey out of the corner of his eye before turning back to the Batman. "Mix the letters up and it spells something else. In this case _Ian W. Maddger _spells _Edward Nigma._So, the name itself's a puzzle?"

The Batman nodded. "The given name _Ian_ can also be said as the letters _E _and _N_."

The Commissioner pushed his hand through his hair and whistled. "Nigma's initials, Jesus."

Harvey was still playing catch-up. "Whoa, whoa...wait a sec." He held his hands up, still frowning. "So, we're just going to assume that because his name spells something else he's not legit? That ain't gonna fly. Not in court. Hell, it barely makes sense to _me_."

"Harvey, that's _some_ coincidence."

"Well shit yeah, but we can't arrest him for _that_. At the most we can dig into his background a bit and get him for impersonating a police officer or something. Without honest-to-god proof that he _is _the Riddler how do we connect him to any murders. Hell, even if we _can _prove that he's the Riddler can we prove that he's hurt anybody? I mean really?"

Gordon just remained silent as he thought, reaching up to scratch his unshaven cheek as Bullock sullenly watched him. Why the hell did he think coming up here and interrupting would be a good idea? He should have known it would just result in more stress.

"So use him instead." Both men turned to gape at the Batman.

"You're saying...we leave him in place?" the Commissioner asked. There was no response from the Batman, but already Gordon was shaking his head. "No. Absolutely not. I don't like that at all. I don't even know where to start. Who knows what he has access to or what damage he can inflict. He's certainly there for a reason."

"He can lead us to Black Mask," came the measured response. "That's the higher priority."

Bullock wasn't about to stay silent about the notion of working alongside the man responsible for murdering his friends and colleagues. Being asked to work with the notorious masked vigilante was bad enough. He'd been hunting the asshole only a few days ago. But, being forced to play nice with the Riddler? "_Fuck _that," he said flatly before turning to Gordon. "He's a damn cop killer. We're not seriously considering this, right?"

The masked man stepped forward, redirecting both cops' attention back on him. "A killer who's having his strings pulled by the Black Mask. _He _has even more blood on his hands than Nigma. Who's the bigger priority?"

Harvey stayed quiet but kept shaking his head in frustration. As much as he hated to say it - and every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to disagree with the freak - he had a point. As bad as the Riddler was, his loss wouldn't stop the man paying him. Shit, for all they knew he wasn't even the only mole in the GCPD.

Gordon was the one to speak next, shaking his head emphatically. "Not worth it. I have to worry about the well-being of my own people first. That's priority one. We can't have that lunatic amongst them. Not after what he's done and what he's capable of. It's too dangerous."

Harvey couldn't exactly disagree with his boss' point. Keeping him around _was _dangerous. That was a given. Still, he'd be damned if the Batman didn't have a valid argument too. They needed a way to end this permanently, not simply slow the bleeding. The whole thing sucked. But, there was also one question nobody had asked.

"I don't get it though," Harvey barked. "What the hell is he even hoping to get outta this? Kill the rest of us off? Or is he just trying to manipulate things from the inside? You know, gather intel?"

"I'd say information. So he can stay one step ahead of us. Seems like what he's been doing so far." Bullock stared at the older man for a second before both turned to the Batman.

"Maybe," he conceded, "but what if there's more. Black Mask mentioned _wanting_Gotham. What if he means control? He'd need judges, police, city officials...people in place that answered to him. People he could influence and that would look the other way or bend the rules for him."

Gordon nodded, running that train of thought through his head. "Makes sense. Sounds a bit like how Carmine Falcone held power."

"He did it through fear, blackmail, and extortion," the vigilante said. "If Black Mask is positioning people loyal to him it would make things much more difficult to unseat him."

"You know...," Bullock began, rubbing the back of his head as he pieced together part of the puzzle, "with the years of experience Maddger's _supposed _to have had out west he'd technically be senior to Montoya. After all the deaths in major crimes in the past few months he _would _be the next in line to run the MCU if I was out of the picture."

Gordon stared at Harvey for a moment, before shaking his head. "Despite my influence he'd effectively control any task force or investigation going after Black Mask."

"Yeah." Harvey pushed back his hat, squeezing his eyes to fight the oncoming headache. How had this whole thing possibly have happened with them completely in the dark?

"Then I think that decides it," Gordon said decisively. "We have to remove him from the equation."

The Lieutenant pinched the bridge of his nose. His damn ulcer was gonna have a field day with him after this little meeting. "I swear to Christ this is gonna kill me," he said, shaking his head. He looked up to meet Gordon's eyes," but I gotta agree with the freak, Commissioner. I say we leave him in play and keep an eye on him. Even if it's just for a short time. We're still dead in the water without this."

"Dammit, I don't believe this," the older man sighed. He trudged to the edge of the roof, pacing slightly, his chin buried in his chest. Finally, he looked up, fixing the head of the MCU with a steady look. "You're sure, Harv? It's your life on the line here. Your call. If you don't want to do this you know I'll support you completely."

Did he want to do this? No, not a chance in hell. Of that he was sure. If for no other reason than just to disagree with the Batman out of principle. But unfortunately it needed doing. They needed a lead and they needed to bring the whole thing down, not just a cog or a piece. The whole damn thing. Fuck.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he managed through gritted teeth. He turned his glare on the black clad figure across from him. "And you'd _better_ save my sorry ass if this stupid ass plan goes pear shaped."

* * *

><p>It was hard to be a wallflower when you were Bruce Wayne. Somehow through the years he'd turned it into a sort of art form, developing a talent at it and blending into throngs of people that would probably like nothing better than to turn him into the center of attention. Bruce leaned against the wall, content to study the others mingling about while downing a great deal of water in an attempt to soothe the irritation and inflammation he still felt in the back of his throat.<p>

"Well, _well_...heya stranger. Anyone else told you you look like shit?"

Bruce smiled at the friendly voice and actually allowed himself a small smile for the first time that morning, turning to his left to face the ever smirking Selina. As was customary for the occasion, she was dressed all in black though her dress was perhaps a little tighter and more form fitting than most would approve of for something so solemn. The bright green in her eyes danced against the dark clothes and makeup she wore, echoing her good mood.

He knew he still wore the effects of his tangle with Ivy, but here, a day and a half after the fact Bruce had figured it'd be subtle enough to venture out. The swelling and discoloration were down to almost unnoticeable levels on his face. Or at least he thought so.

Apparently he'd been wrong. He needed to rethink checking his reflection down in the darkness of the cave. At least the tabloids ought to have fun with this.

Despite Alfred's reticence Bruce _could _have convinced him he needed to stay in and keep to himself a while longer in order to fully heal. Despite his celebrity status nobody would have necessarily missed him for another day or so. It was absurd that the tabloids and gossip rags would be the first to miss him rather than his own company or any philanthropical pursuits.

Despite every excuse to miss it he felt at least some sense of responsibility to show up to the hastily organized memorial service for Riley Gilchrist. The fact that he'd been the one to discover the poor man's body was irrelevant. As was the fact that it would look good for him to be present at the service considering Wayne Enterprises was attempting to buy out Gilchrist's corporation. No, he was doing it for the memory of the Wayne and Gilchrist families. The legacy that both had wrought upon the city, striving to make things better when all signs pointed to a futile battle. It was that memory that he was honoring.

Selina's appearance shouldn't come as much of a surprise. In fact, he should have known they'd both inevitably be here. Alberto was assuredly around somewhere, trying to affiliate himself with the upper crust and gain even more favor, influence, and notoriety through the assembled media and those with power. It was part of the game in these social circles. Because of Gilchrist's status as well as his family name the service had predictably turned into a rather somber, but high class affair. Once the alcohol was flowing freely he had a feeling it would resemble a memorial less and less.

Until now Bruce had been sitting back, loathe to watch the wealthy vultures circling, vying to see if there would be any available scraps from the heir-less man's fortune. His ability to blend in until now meant he hadn't been forced to play along. At least Selina wouldn't play the game alongside all the rest of the snobbish masses.

"Thanks for sugar coating it," he said, lacing the sentence with more than a hint of sarcasm.

She arched an eyebrow mockingly and continued smiling, her teeth sparkling brilliantly. "That _was _sugar coating it."

"Funny."

Selina leaned in closer, narrowing her eyes and looking him over more seriously. Her familiar, fresh, citrus tinged perfume was easily detected when she got near. "No, seriously," she said. "You look kinda...puffy...or something. What happened?"

Bruce shrugged. Anything he said, any explanation he gave had to seem routine. No sense in deviating from the truth here though. At least since it was actually plausible for once. He'd just have to be sure and omit certain...details. "Allergic reaction," Bruce admitted.

The same eyebrow arched in a sign of disbelief. "To what exactly? Somebody's fist?"

Despite himself Bruce chuckled. "Nice. And it's not _that _bad." He still couldn't help but pat his right cheek though reflexively, the one he knew was still the most noticeable.

"Not when it's dark enough," she agreed, winking. Selina crossed her arms, sending him her best nonchalant look. "So, where exactly have you been holed up anyway? We never seem to see each other anymore. And I had such a handsome stalker there for awhile too." The mock pout made him grin again.

It was ironic. They actually _had _been seeing quite a bit of each other lately. More than even he'd have expected. Hell, at this point they'd even saved each other's lives. Just not necessarily as Bruce and Selina. "You _did _dump me," he finally pointed out. Bruce tried to put on a serious face and look put out, but judging by the twinkling in her eye he was failing.

Selina rolled her eyes, but smiled slyly at him all the same. Her teeth practically glowed in the relatively dim light that accompanied the somber event. "A fact you still seem to enjoy bringing up _time_ after _time_."

"Well, It _does _still seem relevant."

The smile didn't falter. "Time to grow a thicker skin then, Bruce. Besides," she said, taking a step forward and leaning in close, her hand supporting herself on his upper chest. She was close enough that he could feel her warm breath ghosting past his ear, making him shiver involuntarily, "you know you want to keep me around. We both know I'm fabulous. Better than your normal airheads and bimbos anyway."

She leaned back and he immediately felt the loss of her body heat and scent. He pretended to think about it for a second, saying, "Oh, I don't know...some of them had their..." Selina arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, "...actually, you know what...you're not gonna get an argument from me there."

Selina smiled. "Good boy." She waited a few seconds before quietly whispering, "I'm glad we can joke about...this."

"Oh, don't get me wrong," he said, smiling and looking down at her, "I'm still as confused as ever. I'll just take what I can get for now. No sense in banging my head against the wall trying to figure out what you're looking for with him?"

"It's complicated, but thank you."

"And how is Alberto?" Bruce craned his neck to look around. "I haven't seen him..."

"And hopefully you won't," she spat, interrupting him. The sudden venom lacing her words took Bruce by surprise. Selina took a moment to regain her composure and forced a smile at him, twirling her hand around absently. "Oh, I'm sure he's...around." The attempt at nonchalance failed miserably.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"Boy, that'd be one screwed up definition of paradise," she muttered, staring out over the throngs of people in front of her.

There was a note of sadness there too. Like she was just resigning herself to a fate he couldn't understand. Of course the Batman had figured out she was using Falcone for...well...for something. And while he could venture several guesses, he still didn't know what precisely that was beyond it involving her friend Holly's death. How it involved Falcone was even more of a question mark.

It was times like these that Bruce could actually get glimpses of the sadness that seemed to run just beneath Selina's surface, an emotion he could certainly relate to. She was almost as good at hiding it as he was. That beautiful smile, her bright eyes, and that playful personality certainly helped mask things a great deal, but the undercurrent was definitely there. If not for the Batman and the information he'd been able to piece together along with Bruce's efforts she'd probably be just as much a mystery to him as ever.

"What?" he asked, pretending as though he hadn't heard her.

She waved it off, again trying to force a smile for Bruce's sake. "Nothing. Let's just say that he and I aren't suited for each other and leave it at that."

"Like you and Brandon weren't?"

She hesitated, running his question over in her head before opening her mouth. It closed just as quickly, Selina apparently thinking better of whatever she was going to say. Finally, she simply nodded, her shoulders bobbing as she half shrugged at the same time. "Sure...okay, why not." Selina leaned on the wall next to him, her upper arm brushing up against his as the two just stood side by side and watched the crowd in silence. She spoke after a few quiet moments, but kept her gaze fixed on the crowd. "So, tell me, why can't more of these wealthy guys actually be approachable and fun? Or at least...human. What's wrong with a guy with money being...normal or being more like...I don't know...you? I mean how did you escape the trap that every one of these pretentious morons seemed to fall blissfully into?"

Bruce shrugged. "You already know the answer to that," he said, still watching the crowd. He could feel her turn and stare at him though, the gears in her head undoubtedly spinning away.

"Your parents," she whispered after a second, her eyes widening. "Oh god, I'm sorry, Bruce. I didn't mean to..."

He waved it off, smiling gently down at her. "Don't be. It was a long time ago. I've had time to deal with it. I'm comfortable talking about it now. Talking about them." He nudged her with his shoulder. "Besides, they would've been thrilled with the compliment. Imagine Bruce Wayne being described as normal."

Selina smiled broadly, one of those rare, dazzling, toothy smiles that wasn't forced or smirking or sly and sexy. Just her enjoying herself and not playing a role. Bruce squeezed her fingers when she slid her hand into his quietly, eliciting another contented grin.

"Come on," she said suddenly, the grin transforming into something mischievous as she pulled herself away from the wall, tugging lightly at their joined hands. "Buy me a drink? I know a place."

Bruce let himself be dragged along a couple steps. He shouldn't have, he knew, the emotional and selfish sides of him fighting tooth and nail for him to just keep his mouth shut and enjoy whatever time he could get with the enigmatic beauty. That damned pesky rational side threw a curveball though, managing to get him to blurt out, "What about Falcone?"

It had the expected effect. Selina froze in place instantly, but didn't turn around to face him. Even from behind she almost seemed to shrink a little bit in front of him, her shoulders sagging as though a great weight was suddenly placed back atop a familiar pedestal.

As with any of the moments of weakness or sadness he glimpsed from her though, it didn't last long. Her head tilted back and Selina's entire figure seemed to bounce as she drew in a long breath. She didn't turn back to face him, instead squeezing his hand again and pulling on it. Even from behind though he could tell her jaw was clenched as though some kind of decision had been reached.

"I'm sure he'll figure it out," she said.

* * *

><p>"You know, this isn't exactly what I had in mind when I agreed to drinks."<p>

Not that Bruce was complaining. The two were sitting on creaky stools at an old, beaten, worn down bar a couple blocks from the monorail station she'd insisted on taking back into town from the Palisades and Gilchrist's memorial service. It was unlike any place he'd been since he returned to Gotham and reacquired his family name, fortune, and the ever present nosiness of the tabloids.

It was also exactly the sort of place he could appreciate right now. A laid back, casual atmosphere was tough to come by in his world. Throw in the company of Selina Kyle and it was generally a win-win situation..

To say the pair had received some stares upon entering the dingy establishment would be putting it mildly. Most of the patrons outright gaped. Of course, they all recognized him almost instantly and if they didn't at first the word got around like lightning. In this town even the downtrodden knew Bruce Wayne. But it was her too...at least for the men. He couldn't exactly blame them for staring either, as it was an action that he himself was constantly fighting around her.

Selina shrugged unapologetically. "I always tell you you need to get out more."

For once Bruce decided to throw caution to the wind and actually drink some of the hefeweizen he'd ordered, sipping at it before he really thought about what she'd said. "You...what?" he managed. "You never say that."

"At the theater." Selina shrugged. "Besides, it's implied."

"Woman's prerogative?"

"Something like that." Selina shrugged her shoulders and took a gulp of her matching drink. "What? I like this place. Reminds me of...I don't know...home? Somewhere I can let my hair down" She winked at him and grinned, leaning over to nudge his shoulder. "I hope this doesn't conflict _too _much with all those rich boy sensibilities."

He smiled at her and let out a slight laugh. "I'm sure I'll manage. Believe it or not, but I do know what it's like down in the trenches."

Selina leaned back, taking another swallow of her beer before studying him comically, tilting her head back and forth as though she was trying to see Bruce from all angles. "Nope," she finally said, drawing it out a little and continuing to let her eyes roam up and down him before shaking her head. "Don't believe that even for a second."

He decided that it probably didn't help that he was wearing Armani at the moment.

Bruce shrugged and took another sip from the bottle. "It's true."

"Right." She waved her hands in front of herself a couple times, indicating her designer gown and coat. "Granted, I don't usually come dressed quite like this or with guests that are quite so...shall we say...illustrious? But I really have a hard time picturing you ever begging for scraps or worrying about things as mundane as money."

"Well..." Bruce smirked, "looks can be deceiving."

"Mmmm." Selina nodded knowingly, her smirk quirking the corners of her lips up. "That's a story I'd like to hear sometime," she said, taking another drink.

He knew he was treading in dangerous waters. Anything even resembling the truth about his time abroad, about the time spent in the slums as a criminal and beggar and then his eventual imprisonment on the other side of the world would lead to too many questions. That Bruce Wayne had traveled the world as a commoner was newsworthy but not particularly earth shattering. However, If someone was able to connect the dots further...well, that could prove costly.

Still, he owed the woman something. She _had _shared some of herself with him. Parts that she didn't just oblige anyone. It may not have been the complete truth, but it wasn't lies either. It'd taken the Batman to get a more complete, albeit still fractured, view of her story and motivations.

Still, caution always seemed to win out.

"Well, there _was _this one time I was summering in the Hamptons..."

Selina snorted, covering her nose and mouth with one hand as her whole body shook atop the stool, her eyes shut tightly. It took her another second before she raised her head again, smiling. "How very horrific for you," she managed, the sentence dripping in unconcealed sarcasm. "I can only imagine how that must have left you scarred. I can probably still see the marks."

Bruce just grinned and took another drink of his beer.

"I spent some time in China once," he admitted between sips. "Not vacationing, not on business, just...living. Surviving day to day." He saw Selina turn towards him, listening quietly. Bruce took another sip, wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve. "Remember when I told you about my travels after my parents' murderer was killed? How I managed to experience a lot?" She nodded, regarding him evenly. "God, I...I'd wanted revenge for so long and I guess I just didn't know what came next, you know?" Bruce saw Selina nod again in his peripheral vision. Apparently she knew the feeling. He glanced at her for a moment, but kept facing forward for the most part "Someone once told me that I'd 'never tasted desperate' before. He was right. Even after my parents were gone I'd never wanted for anything besides their company. When Chill was killed I ran. Just...ran and didn't look back. Left behind my name and money and just...was." Bruce stared at the bottle between his fingers before glancing over at Selina, smiling.

"I had no idea," she whispered.

"No one does." Bruce laughed. "I even ended up in prison for a little while. Can you imagine the media getting ahold of that? They'd have a field day."

Selina joined him, laughing lightly as the tone eased a bit. "Really? How much you think that little tidbit's worth?" When he feigned a shocked face Selina winked at him and leaned in, pressing against his shoulder. "Your secret's safe with me," she whispered.

"That so?"

"Mmhmm..."

He took another sip of his drink, moving his other arm to ghost over Selina's lower back before eventually coming to a rest. Her smile widened slightly and she adjusted on her stool, shifting slightly closer and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Thanks for that by the way," she managed. "For telling me about that."

Bruce fingered the bottle in front of him, drawing aimlessly in the condensation. "It's not easy for me to open up," he finally said. "It's something we have in common. I think we've talked about how I don't necessarily share a lot of myself with others. I know I don't let people in."

The weight shifted on his shoulder and he looked down, meeting a pair of bright green eyes. "Bruce, you're not the only one." He looked back at the bottle in front of him, shifting it left and right with his free hand. "And me? Are you gonna let me in?"

"Should I be?"

She watched him for a second, running thoughts around in her head as her bright eyes studied his face. "I'm with Falcone because of Holly," she blurted out.

Bruce turned in his seat to stare at her, giving her his full and undivided attention. She'd been contemplating something, but coming clean with him wasn't exactly what he'd expected. She didn't look back at him though. Apparently now it was her turn to burn a hole in the wall behind the bar.

Selina ran her hand through her hair and took a deep breath. "I've been trying to track down her killer ever since the bullshit they fed me in London, trying to find this Dario guy or whoever's responsible. The trail's taken me all over the world. It eventually led me to Thorne and then to Alberto. I've been trying to find the next piece of the puzzle ever since, but it's been difficult."

"For two years?"

Selina nodded. "I've done some...unsavory things in that time." Her face screwed up painfully at some unknown memory, her brow creasing and lips pursing together. "Things I'm not particularly proud of. But I...I promised Holly I'd take care of her, that I'd protect her." Selina finished off the remainder of her drink and set it cautiously on the counter. "When she died I made another vow. I promised I'd bring her justice. Whatever it takes. I...I can't just let that go. Can't let her go."

The way her own story echoed his own tale reverberated through Bruce's skull. If he'd been older and his parents' killer hadn't been apprehended later that same night would he be spending all his energy hunting him down? How long would it have taken? How would that have affected him?

"And please don't tell me that's a job for the police or something," she said, still staring straight ahead. Finally she glanced at him, her eyes full of weariness and pain. "Everyone else has."

"It's something you feel you have to do," he said. Selina nodded. "And what happens when you find what you're looking for?"

The look she shot him was cold and unflinching. "I gut the bastard."

He remembered that feeling all too well too. It was one he'd come within seconds of acting upon once upon a time. For now he let it slide with Selina. Now was not the time to be debating the merits of revenge versus justice. Not when she'd just confided in him.

"Why tell me this?"

Selina shrugged, motioning the passing bartender for another drink before smiling warmly at him. "Do I have to spell it out?" She shook her head, that sexy, sly smile staying in place and being accompanied by one of her winks. "I think you know."

Returning the smile came easily enough. Thankfully she hadn't revealed anything about her moonlight persona to him, unwilling to trust him completely with all her secrets still. The guilt he'd have suffered through as he continued to keep his own, similar secret from her would have been difficult to bear with her being so open. But he would have.

A part of him wanted to let her into his inner circle and simply tell her the whole truth. But he'd been in possession of so many secrets for so long that he almost didn't know _how _to bring others into the fold anymore. Lessons learned from Rachel. Honesty, it would seem, was becoming harder and harder these days.

"I do...and thank you." Her eyes crinkled a bit as she continued smiling, reaching over to clink her newly arrived bottle with his own as she burrowed against him. "So, where do we go from here?" he asked, reveling in her warmth and the smell of her skin and hair.

"What say we take it a day at a time?" Selina arched her neck up and met Bruce's lips softly with hers, letting them linger for a few seconds. "I think we could both use something...uncomplicated at the moment. Besides," she said, planting another, longer, electrifying kiss on him, "I hate putting labels on things."

Again, Bruce _knew _it was the wrong thing to say, but far be it for him to not be a competitive, red blooded man. "And Alberto?"

This time she didn't miss a beat, leaning into him even closer, or as close as separate stools would allow, and wrapping her right arm tightly around the back of his neck and pulling him even closer. "Alberto who?" Selina whispered against his lips before diving in again.

* * *

><p>It was several hours later when the two half stumbled out of the bar, the sky darkening quickly with the waning light of the sun racing away somewhere over the horizon. With most people already home for the evening after a day spent at work the streets were relatively calm. For Gotham. The yellowish glow of the streetlights was already creating the shadowy wells of inky blackness in the alleys and crevices of the buildings, transforming the city into its other, less benevolent self.<p>

They'd barely made it halfway down the block when Selina leaned up on her toes and kissed him again, smiling as she felt his arms envelop her. Bruce stopped and faced her fully, deepening the kiss as she angled her head, burying the fingers of one hand in his hair.

The experience was electric, drawing her in and captivating her and only making her want more. Despite his normally rational mindset it seemed to be having a similar effect on Bruce too judging by the way he would reluctantly pull away or keep his eyes shut, savoring each stolen moment.

With everything she'd been dealing with, Holly's death and the trail of breadcrumbs she'd been following ever since, the lies and deceptions, spurning Bruce for Alberto, here finally was peaceful, blissful separation. For once the stress was gone alongside the doubts and the scheming. For once she could just enjoy what was right before her for however long it was there.

Selina didn't want the moment to end.

"Why in the _hell _do you live all the way out in the Palisades?" she said breathlessly, swallowing hard before tilting her head back in to reinitiate the latest kiss. Warmth flooded her again, before Bruce disengaged, keeping his face in close to hers, his breath ghosting over her skin.

"The penthouse," he murmured against her lips, "...is only...a few blocks away."

Her mouth transformed into a smile of its own accord against his before she suddenly pulled back a little, batting her eyelashes at him playfully. The hooded look he was returning felt electric, his already dark eyes almost black. "Why Mister Wayne, whatever are you suggesting?" she breathed.

He smirked at her, his eyes flashing with a deviousness she hadn't thought him capable of. She simply angled her head and smiled back at him. "I didn't think I had to spell it out for you."

"Mmmm," she managed before he pressed in against her again. "Oh, it's crystal clear." Selina had to laugh when she pulled away and strode towards the nearby curb. The confused, almost hurt look that flashed over his features was downright endearing. She held up a hand to one of the passing yellow cabs that littered the city before turning back to her companion. He was starting toward her, still confused and trying to figure out if their night was suddenly coming to end.

No doubt he was second guessing himself at every turn now too and where he might have gone wrong or been too forward..

Selina dashed those thoughts in an instant, smiling brightly at him and pulling him in the rest of the way. "The trip will be a whole lot faster if we take a cab," she whispered into his ear, standing on her toes as she ran her hands over his chest.

The slight shudder that accompanied her words didn't go unnoticed.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I know, I know, I know. This took quite awhile. Mass Effect 3 and a bit of writer's block conspired against me, but at least I gave you a nice long chapter. And hey, you got a bit of a change in the Bruce/Selina dynamic so I hope some of you are happy. Does this mean trumpets and angels and blah, blah, blah? Pfffttt...right. Uh...no. _

_Anyway, next chapter won't skip forward and will more or less pick up right after this one. Keep in mind though, this story IS 'T' though. I promise I'll try not to let it be too long until the next update though. _

_As always, be sure to review. I really want to hear about the way things are beginning to turn._


	35. Chapter 35

_Apologies for life getting in the way yet again. Had most of this done last week and then work went nuts and managed to worm its way into my weekend. Needless to say I didn't exactly get to devote time to things I wanted to so this is getting posted a little later than originally anticipated. Thanks for bearing with me.  
><em>

_As always, please don't forget to leave a review if you wish to be awesome. Come on, doesn't everyone want to be awesome? I want that for you, but I can't leave a review so it's all up to you.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>Selina wrapped her arms around her bare torso and shivered in the stillness despite the fact the room was quite comfortable. Before her the lights of Gotham twinkled brilliantly, playing over her pale skin and the glass separating her from the brisk night air. The penthouse of one of the world's most attractive, eligible men and here she was, a onetime street urchin and career criminal that probably would have once laughed at herself for even being in this room like this. In another life, another world, the entire situation would seem like something out of a modern day fairytale.<p>

But she just couldn't seem to bring herself to see it that way.

What she was even doing here was hard to explain, hard to justify to herself. She was _supposed _to be out there in the darkened city hunting down a remorseless killer instead of standing in a warm, comfortable bedroom enjoying the company of Bruce Wayne. That was her burden, her solemn vow, the path she'd chosen all those long nights ago and which she hadn't deviated from even once. Now she'd possibly cut herself off from the only shred of the trail she had left in one fell, self serving swoop.

She ran one hand up and through her mussed hair, smiling despite the dark thoughts occupying her mind when she reflected on how exactly it had come to be so unkempt. She may be failing at her promise to the memory of her friend, but at the same time she couldn't find it in herself to regret her actions either. There was no way to blame alcohol or simple loneliness on what had happened. She'd used sex before as a tool. Selina was under no illusions about the kind of reaction men had to her and she purposely made use of that. This, however, had been part of no scheme. In the end, she'd wanted it and that made it infinitely more complicated. Happiness, even fleeting, had been something absent from her life for far too long. These past few hours of it had managed to do nothing less than take her breath away.

Glancing back she could just make out Bruce's form still wrapped up in the remnants of the bedsheets, dozing lightly in the darkness, his left arm buried under the pillow.

Bruce Wayne. A man so completely different than every preconceived notion she could have ever built from the media and her own prejudices. A bright spot in this dark, dirty city that she'd sorely needed. Probably since before she'd even come to Gotham. Something to hold on to and remind herself of her own worth. Someone patient enough to allow her to make the necessary self-discoveries on her own.

He didn't deserve even a minute of what she'd handed him and yet he took most of it in stride, being far more understanding of her secrecy and dilemma than anyone had any right to be. How he managed to do that and how she almost got the feeling he knew more than she was telling him she didn't know. He just smiled the calm, confident smile and seemed to tell her what she needed to hear.

She turned back around and reached out to touch the cold glass, pressing her fingertips against the smooth surface. Far below her the headlights of passing vehicles streamed by like an uninterrupted river of light.

So what now?

News of her sneaking off with Bruce Wayne was sure to eventually make its way back to Alberto. It was almost inevitable considering the rumor mongering horde that had been assembled at Gilchrist's service. The only questions remaining then were how long she had, how he'd react, and how she moved forward from here? As fresh a breath as Bruce was in her dreary little world she still had a promise to keep and a friend to avenge. When looked at from that perspective tonight's...spontaneity probably had been a bad idea. She still needed the information Falcone had stashed somewhere in that fortress he called a penthouse and she'd probably just lost her easy access.

Selina took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Time, unfortunately, was of the essence. No more games, no more subtleties, she needed to act before the window closed. She needed to get into Alberto's penthouse while she was still a familiar, welcome face. She glanced again at the warm, inviting bed and the even more inviting figure it contained, letting out an exasperated sigh.

Crap.

Figure fifteen minutes at the most to get home for her gear. Another thirty minutes to cover the distance to Falcone's and thirty minutes after that to circumvent the outermost ring of security. If everything went smoothly she'd hopefully have a couple hours to work on that small, walk-in vault he'd had concealed in the southeast corner. Account for hiding any evidence of her presence and backtracking and, yeah, she could get it done by sunrise. She could be back here, in bed by the time the sleeping billionaire woke up. He'd never even know she was gone. Hopefully. Oddly, she found she didn't want him to be waking up alone either.

Quietly she began scanning the darkened room for her discarded clothing.

* * *

><p>The soft fabric of the dress fell quietly around her shoulders, tugging down until it once again hugged her curves down to the knee. Unsurprisingly it looked a little more...wrinkled than it once had, an appearance that elicited a small smile from its wearer. Selina bent down and picked up the pair of shoes quietly, intent on finding her bag next.<p>

"You're leaving."

It wasn't a question. Oddly the voice also wasn't especially angry or hurt. Almost as though he'd been half expecting it.

Selina closed her eyes and grimaced at being caught, her shoulders slumping slightly. Of _course _he wouldn't sleep through this and of _course _he'd wake up to find her looking as though she was about to sneak out on him. Fan-fucking-tastic. Turning back towards the bed she found Bruce propped up on one arm, his hair an adorable mess with a sleep addled, confused look on his face. Great, yet another serving of guilt on top of those she'd already managed to collect for herself.

Selina sighed and nodded. "I've gotta...take care of something. Something that just can't wait anymore." She finally found the small clutch and added it to the small collection she'd managed to gather before she'd planned on slipping out. "Listen, I am so, _so _sorry, Bruce, but I'm not running out on you. Promise."

Shifting in bed he looked over at the clock nearby. "But it's...it's so...Selina, it's so late it's not even early yet," he managed, trying to shake free the effects of the sleep he'd been brought out of. "You _have _to deal with this now? It can't wait until the morning?"

Shaking her head she crossed over and sat down on the edge of the bed next to him, staring down into those heavy, dark eyes. It was almost startling how much she just wanted to just forget her troubles and return to bed and his warmth. She was almost disappointed when some small, powerful part of her managed to beat aside the desire.

"No. I'm sorry, but this can't wait another second. I just..." she ran her hand through her hair, smoothing it down, "I just want this over with so I can move forward. Things...for me...can't move on until it's done and I just don't want to wait anymore. Can you understand that?"

Bruce studied her face. It made Selina more than a little fidgety. "This is about Holly then?" he asked. Selina nodded. "And Alberto?" She grimaced at the link, but nodded again. He stared at her, searching her face for...something. What it could have possibly been she didn't know. Finally, he managed a small smile and ran his hand up the bare skin of her arm. "Let me come then."

No, her mind screamed. Oh, _hell _no. This was _not _something she was about to get Bruce Wayne involved in, no matter what kind of look he managed to shoot her. One story about some prison time wasn't about to make her bring someone so defenseless into such a potentially dangerous world. A man like Bruce Wayne had no business there and she had no intention of introducing him to it. She didn't...couldn't open his eyes to just how ugly the world she was sometimes a part of could manage to be. "Bruce, no...I can't..." she began, shaking her head.

"Okay," he said, interrupting her explanation.

"I...what?" She froze in place, angling her head as though she'd misunderstood him or heard him wrong.

"I want to help. You know that. But you go do what you need to do," he continued, giving her a smile. "I'll be here. Call it a leap of faith."

Involuntarily she felt the guilt melt away, her smile widening to her cheeks' limits and causing Selina to wipe at a suddenly very wet eye. She'd still need to eventually deal with this whole Catwoman thing and this secret identity that he knew nothing about. Did that mean giving it up? Did that mean...

What the hell? Was she actually contemplating a relationship with billionaire Bruce Wayne? She shook her head and banished the thought as something to be analyzed at a later time. In her current state and in his current state of undress there really wasn't any way she could begin to think about that rationally. Still, it was more than enough for her mind to begin whirring with thoughts.

"Wait for me right here," she finally said after a second before she'd had the time to think it through, indicating the bed he was still laying in. "I'll be back before you know it and then...well..." She leaned forward and met his lips, angling her head so that she could deepen it. She felt his free arm snake up, beginning to wrap around her side, drawing her slightly closer. Selina broke away, batting at his wandering hand but smiling deviously at him. "Then we'll make up for lost time," she finished.

The wink was the cherry on top to seal the tantalizing promise as she made for the door.

* * *

><p>The second the whir of the elevator doors cycling shut in the quiet penthouse was audible, the covers were cast aside and the hidden panel opened, exposing the small, secret room to the pale moonlight. Bruce rubbed his eyes again, blinking them rapidly in the sudden brightness as the automatic overheads flickered into place. The suit and armor sat in their usual position, cradled in the custom scaffolding that held the whole thing in place. Past it was a set of small security cameras and a couple linked monitors that fed information back from the cave. That whole setup had been holy hell to get done covertly, but having access to his information systems almost anywhere was paramount.<p>

One monitor in the lower left was already showing Selina leaving the elevator, headed for the main entry.

Bruce reached out and touched the breast plate.

So, something had happened. Selina had come to some kind of decision. Something regarding her search for a killer and her affiliation with Alberto Falcone. All along she'd been with him for information, deceiving the man until she obtained whatever information he had that would assist her. Was she pushing up her timetable because of him then? Was she taking chances she would otherwise have avoided?

Selina's admission that her errand had something to do with Holly and Falcone made things pretty straightforward. She'd been caught before trying to break into the man's home and only began the relationship with him immediately thereafter. Whatever she was pursuing, she obviously thought it was in that building and needed to obtain access through means other than breaking and entering.

He slipped the lower portion of the highly flexible kevlar body suit over his legs.

She had no car and no bag with her large enough to contain Catwoman's suit and gear. That meant she was heading home first. That or planning on breaking into a secure apartment in a slinky dress and high heels, an option Bruce dismissed immediately.

The snug upper suit came next, overlapping the lower by almost a foot to provide extra coverage around his midsection and vital organs.

Selina's journey home meant he'd have plenty of time to get to Falcone's ahead of her. She'd be on foot the entire way and he wouldn't.

Which left him with another issue.

Alfred.

His friend had been serving almost as his backup lately, supplementing his own eyes and ears through his overwatch and intelligence gathering efforts. It would be a break from their established routines, but Bruce saw no reason to involve his faithful servant tonight. Not when it was glorified spying on his...well, whatever Selina was to him.

Bruce also knew he'd be paying for the decision not to include the man at a later date. What Bruce saw as necessary and what Alfred saw as borderline psychotic often seemed to go hand in hand.

Undoubtedly his butler already knew Bruce hadn't come home for the night. Equally likely was that he also knew his employer hadn't taken the suit or any of the cars from the cave either. Based on Alfred's usual thoroughness in everything he did the man also likely knew that he was at the penthouse. The security system he'd switched off when he and Selina had entered earlier would have indicated that to anyone that could access the network remotely like Alfred could. Put together it meant that he'd be here in the morning, unprompted, in time to have breakfast waiting and a typically dry, sarcastic dressing down ready for Bruce's latest activities.

The whole thing kind of made a text message superfluous. His butler was anything if not insightful. He'd likely already figured it out hours ago.

Wordlessly, the billionaire took down the leg pieces and began snapping them into place over top of the underlayer with practiced ease. He'd be at Alberto's within twenty minutes.

* * *

><p>The doorman just smiled and nodded when she walked in the lobby, barely paying her any attention or even looking up from his magazine now that she was such a fixture around Falcone's building. Just another familiar, beautiful face lost in the myriad people that came and went every day. Working slowly certainly had its disadvantages for someone that lacked patience as much as she did. Still, she couldn't argue with the benefits of being just another face in the crowd. Anonymity was a warm, secure blanket that was generally advisable in her line of work.<p>

Besides the bag containing her gear she was now carrying Selina had also changed on her brief stopover at her hotel, going for a more casual pants and blouse look that would be easy to change out of once that time came. Being seen in a rumpled black dress as she'd been when she left Bruce's would have practically screamed for attention. She also wanted something slightly less flattering and attention grabbing than the tight garment. Something casual observers wouldn't remember.

Besides, 'walk of shame' was never a good look on any lady.

The elevator stopped, as usual, on the twenty sixth floor rather than where the penthouse was located on the twenty seventh. When the doors opened, also as per normal security procedures, she was greeted by three large men stuffed into suits far too small for their impressive builds. In any other venue besides this one where the only job requirement was to look intimidating they'd be almost laughable. From the way two of them had handled themselves against her alter ego several months ago though, she knew they were anything but.

Since Catwoman's attempt to find a way in there were now always three guards stationed here. It was more than a little annoying.

The first one, Mark, nodded and greeted her by name, holding out his hand to take her bags while a second approached her with a metal-detecting wand. She wordlessly handed the black gym bag to Mark, hoping that the false bottom wasn't discovered and rolled her eyes at the other guard.

"Seriously, Saul? We're still back to this?" At least the giant mountain of a man managed to look slightly apologetic. Selina raised her arms out to her sides. "Go ahead," she said. "Grope away." She winked at him. "Be gentle though. will ya?"

The large dark skinned man managed to mumble something, but went to work running the device over her outstretched arms. To Selina's left Mark was busy glancing through her gym bag's contents. As she'd expected he was just pushing things around with a cursory glance. Well trained they may be, but home security experts they most definitely were not. If Selina had to venture a guess she'd probably say ex-military. Dealing with a forceful, strong willed significant other was probably well outside their comfort zone.

"No offense ma'am," Mark said, now skimming the contents of her purse, "but we weren't notified that you were coming. The ah...the boss isn't actually here."

"Oh," Selina replied, feigning a somewhat shocked expression. "Do you know where he is?" She looked at her watch. "It's awfully late."

Two of the members of the security detail shot each other meaningful looks, one scratching the back of his head.

Alberto's womanizing was no secret of course. Despite the measures he took to keep it out of the media and away from public consumption the sleaze didn't even _try _to hide it from her. Apparently he thought himself safe from just about anything she could do to tarnish his reputation. In public she may have played the somewhat bored, rich girlfriend, but in private she'd actively played up the knowledge as a way to keep him at arm's length. She may have acted outraged, but in her own mind she had always been ecstatic by the knowledge that he routinely made a habit of staying out all night along with a sizable chunk of his security detail.

Mark, the burly blond security guard, despite the size difference and his penchant for being downright fear inducing sputtered and wouldn't meet her eyes. Predictable. "Uh...I'm actually not sure, uh...ma'am," he managed before quickly adding, "He'll probably be back soon though. If you'd like me to I can let him know you were here?"

"That's okay," she smirked, stepping away from Saul as he was in the final stages of running the wand over her legs and snatching the straps of the bag back, moving purposefully away towards the doors she'd once been caught by these very men trying to hack. "I don't mind waiting. I'll just make myself comfortable. We've got some things we need to discuss."

"Ma'am, I really don't think..."

A sharp glare cut off their protests midsentence. Selina, adjusting, transformed her face back into a sweet, beaming smile. "Please let me know when Alberto gets in, would you?" She turned her back and entered the stolen code into the door, waving back at the nervous group as she opened it. "Thanks boys."

Selina didn't miss the stunned, nervous looks the three shot each other as the entry door closed behind her. The debacle with the Catwoman had already failed to ingratiate them with their employer. If he ever found out that they let her walk right in and take what she wanted? Well, it made her almost feel sorry for them.

The foyer was dark, stretching away into the great room where she could see the city lights providing illumination. Off to both sides were pitch black hallways leading to guest rooms and further accommodations. Everything else branched off the sprawling, open living area where she'd find the kitchen, dining space, and the entrance to Alberto's suite of rooms.

Clicking the switches to her right she purposefully walked down the hall, the lights blinking into existence as each successive set of toggles was hit. No sense in keeping the lights off, everyone knew she was already here. If Mark or one of the others came to check on her and found her sneaking around in the dark? Well, that wouldn't be suspicious now would it?

Tossing her bags on the wraparound couch she dropped heavily beside them, flicking on the massive television and fiddling with the controls. The next part would be a little trickier than simply intimidating a few hapless guards.

Closed circuit cameras had unobstructed views of nearly every square inch of the penthouse, broadcasting video to the always manned security station a floor below in both high definition and night vision modes. Getting by them had taken some doing. Selina leaned back, letting herself sink into the soft leather as some brainless reality show played on the screen. Now she just needed to sit still long enough that she could activate the subroutine she'd installed a month prior that would loop all the cameras, making it look as though she was simply bored and watching TV while waiting for Alberto to return.

Ten minutes ought to do it.

* * *

><p>Sitting on the couch watching television was certainly <em>not <em>what he'd expected to see her doing. Bruce was about to rethink all his preconceptions when she pulled a small computer out of her bag and typed in a few short commands. Once finished she stood, stretched, and immediately headed for the double doors on the far side of the room.

The red light was still glowing on the camera in the corner of the room above the bookcase. Looping them then? Smart. Apparently she'd been busy during her time amongst Falcone and his lackeys. Hacking a back door into the security systems wasn't something done lightly or easily. It took skill and patience. So she was experienced with computers and digital systems then as well. He filed that bit away to add to the dossier he had on Selina.

The regular door lock to the next room stood little chance, allowing her entry into her one time boyfriend's inner sanctum quickly where she shut it behind her carefully. From his vantage point across the street Bruce didn't have a good view of the suite of rooms Selina was now in, blocked by odd angles as well as their drawn blinds. He'd need to relocate and get in close in order to find a way to see past the window coverings. For the first time he found himself missing the drone and its thermal imaging equipment.

Bruce stowed the small magnifying monocle and dropped off the balcony he'd been crouched on, spreading his cape and turning east so that he could get a better entry angle to his new perch above Alberto's bedroom windows. It wasn't much, little more than a twelve inch ledge that protruded off the building as part of the structure's modernistic decor, but assuming he could hold on, it would suit his purposes.

It was far from graceful but in the end he managed to cling to the side of the building, anchoring a line immediately into the crevice between two wall panels to keep him in place. After that it was just a question of lowering himself, upside down to peer in through the gap left between the window frame and closed blinds. It also required him to use a light amplification sight since she'd apparently decided to keep the lights off this time. Probably because this was a place she wasn't supposed to be. When he finally managed to catch sight of her again she already had Catwoman's goggles on, but had apparently decided not to fully change into her alter ego's outfit. Despite the danger, being caught as Selina Kyle would probably raise less suspicions than being caught as the notorious thief.

At the moment she was busy tossing the second of a group of dark colored pieces of cloth over the three security cameras visible to him from his current angle. Bruce frowned. If they were already looped then why go to the effort? It did nothing but waste valuable time.

She moved to the wall opposite the large king bed and went to work next, uncovering a panel set into the woodwork of a set of bookcases and entering a series of numbered passwords. She played a small voice recorder next, holding it up to a small speaker next to the touchscreen.

The wall next to the bookcase featuring a hazy print of a Monet suddenly wasn't a flat wall anymore, opening up just a crack and sending a splinter of light angling across the room. Selina, never hesitating, pulled the heavy door open further and entered, disappearing from view.

* * *

><p>The vault was really more a panic room. Although hardened and quite secure it utilized its secrecy and the way it blended right into the wall more than anything to remain impregnable.<p>

Unfortunately that just wasn't good enough against someone like Selina.

The architect's office that Falcone has used to design the space was far, far less secure than the penthouse itself. Although difficult to find she'd managed to uncover an undeleted copy of the building plans that still showed the little anteroom. For her it was all a part of her normal investigation into her target. Despite being on the wrong side of the law knowledge was still power. After its discovery it was as simple as figuring out how to gain access.

The goal of getting into the vault had been her primary focus ever since she'd been foiled during her break in attempt. In the end, the passwords had been tricky to uncover. Luckily, unlike the outer doors, the codes were steady and went unchanged. Alberto probably felt secure that nobody was getting into the bedroom in the first place, so why bother? The voiceprint took some doing too, but she eventually got it as well, thanking the stars that Falcone liked to hear himself talk ad nauseum.

What she wasn't expecting was the hardened steel door that led off the panic room into yet another chamber. That certainly hadn't been on the plans. The one room was supposed to be it. Selina crossed her arms and stared at it. Son of a...

There wasn't a scanner, card reader, camera, keyhole, or even a doorknob anywhere in sight. Just a smooth, featureless metal face. Other than being comfortable with a small couch, bed, and kitchenette the rest of the secret room she was in was fairly barren. Meant to be lived in for a short period of time in case of an emergency it wasn't filled with jewels, cash, or hard drives like any normal, self respecting safe. Obviously the door she was now staring at was the one that was truly meant to keep something secret and truly secure. Selina would put money that whatever she was after too was back there.

That just left an impregnable door between her and it.

Shit.

Wracking her brain for possibilities she reached out and touched the metal, tapping lightly after a second. It could be remote controlled. That kind of mechanism could be hidden within the walls. She glanced at the rest of the room. Despite their appearance the walls were most certainly _not _simple drywall. There was bound to be reinforced concrete and steel under there. So, probably not remote control. Radio waves would have a hell of a time passing through that.

She rapped again on the steel, bending close to put her ear against the cold surface.

As expected it was definitely not thin or hollow, but there _had_ been a slight reverberation. Could there be a card scanner or something hidden just underneath the surface? Or was that just a portion of the mechanical latching system such a door _had _to have.

She stood back up straight and closed her eyes. What else did that leave her with? She looked back around the small room.

Pressure trigger? Hidden somewhere in the panic room? Could it really be that simple?

The top drawer of the small nightstand next to the bed had a keyhole built into the top drawer. Selina tried it. Locked. Like most normal keyed entries it took little effort to defeat with the proper technique and tools.

Upon its defeat she discovered the top drawer wasn't actually the top drawer at all. Rather the entire nightstand pulled open to reveal a computer monitor divided into sixteen views cycling through the security cameras strewn throughout the apartment. Thankfully it still showed her sitting on the couch, uninterested at whatever was playing on the television. Next to the screen was a small panel with a nine digit keypad built into it. Selina smiled to herself as she extracted her equipment from the black bag. Assuming the code wasn't another of those damned eleven digit varieties they seemed to prefer downstairs and was closer to five or six digits her little number generator _should _have her in in less than thirty minutes. Fifteen if she was really lucky.

Five minutes later and the small electronic device was still cycling, allowing Selina to _again _test her patience. A sudden, muffled knock separated from her by several rooms and sets of thick doors was barely audible in the silence. Selina froze, glancing back at the security monitors at the nightstand.

She was no longer sitting on the couch and several of the cameras were now blacked out.

Double shit.

They must have rebooted the servers earlier than expected. That was the only possibility. The looped video she'd backdoored into the system wouldn't stop until she'd turned it off or they'd caught on and she seriously doubted they'd be knocking if they were on to her.

"Miss Kyle?" It was Mark's voice and much more clear now. She began stowing her equipment quickly, watching as a figure walked into the frame in the entry hall, looking around. "Miss Kyle," he called again.

"_Shit_!" Selina muttered, closing her eyes and tilting her head back in annoyance. So damn close. She was literally minutes away from cracking the inner door to this thing. The voice from out in the great room didn't exactly leave her a lot of time though. She stood and exited the small vault, closing the hinged wall back into place without so much as a click, already unbuttoning the top several snaps on her blouse as she crossed the room to the bed, kicking off her shoes as well.

* * *

><p>"Ma'am?"<p>

Less than a minute later the door creaked open, casting a shaft of light into the room and silhouetting the burly guard. "Miss Kyle are you in here?" She could see him feeling around for the light switch in the dark before finally finding it and clicking it on. She sat up, gathering the sheets around her naked body and trying her best to act somewhat startled and embarrassed as the entire room was suddenly bathed in warm light. Fortunately it wasn't especially hard at the moment. The man's eyes widened comically at her before he blinked and diverted his gaze at the floor. " Oh! I'm...uh, sorry ma'am. We had a problem with the cameras and I came to check on them. The ones in the bedroom all seemed to be out." He gestured to the black towel covering the nearest mount. "I'm assuming that was you that did that?"

She nodded and smiled, hoping she could will herself into a faint blush. "Sorry," she started, cinching the covers closer. "I was hoping you guys wouldn't mind if I demonstrated a little...modesty. I was going to surprise Alberto," she nodded in the direction of the corner where Mark followed her gaze to the covered camera, "and I didn't exactly want the whole world to see."

"I...uh...I see." She didn't miss him scanning the room, taking in her scattered clothing and the otherwise undisturbed nature of things nearby. His eyes definitely lingered at the concealed entrance to the panic room. "Listen, Miss Kyle..."

"Selina," she said, smiling.

"Uh...Miss Kyle, I can't really have you in here by yourself. We've got explicit instructions from the boss. And...uh...the cameras also have to stay on."

Her smile broadened. "Oh, come on. That doesn't include me, right? I mean, I'm his girlfriend. Surely, _I'm _at least allowed in his room. It's not like I haven't been in here before."

She actually hadn't. It was a fact she'd actually been grateful for until now.

Mark shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry ma'am."

She frowned, narrowing her eyes at the man. "You've gotta be kidding me?"

She'd swear the giant had actually found a way to shrink, seeming to get smaller before her very eyes. Thank god for the intimidation factor of a naked woman. He managed an apologetic smile and shook his head. "Again, I'm sorry ma'am. I don't make the rules."

Selina blew out a loud sigh. "Well, can I at least have some privacy while I get dressed?" The security agent fidgeted and made to open his mouth again. "You're kidding," she breathed.

The man shrugged. "Rules," he said. "Either we uncover the cameras or I have to be in the room with you." He hastily added, "I'll turn around though."

She just gawked at him, her eyebrows climbing her forehead at the sheer ludicrous level of the security measures. For once, her surprise was completely genuine. Mark, turning slightly red refused to meet her stare. Eventually he managed to open his mouth though, intending to say something. Selina held up her hand, stopping him cold. "Just turn around," she grumbled, rolling her eyes. When he moved she tossed the sheets to the side. Contrary to the act she was putting on for him, her actual sense of modesty was a little less...stringent than she'd stated. She actually had very little problem with nudity. A fact she'd recently managed to...share with Bruce in detail.

Also, there was no way around how much this sucked. The cameras were working again, the guards were...well, not wary, but certainly watchful, and she now had an escort even while sans clothes. Considering how close she'd been it was enough to make her want to bang her head against something. The night she was finally about to be free of Falcone and all his shit and one one step closer to the endgame and a few lucky muscle heads in ill fitting suits managed to dumbly intervene.

_God_! Except for one glaring example she absolutely _hated _Gotham City.

"And no peeking," she hissed over her shoulder.

* * *

><p>He watched the entire thing occur with an explosive charge primed in his hand. Until she exited the room with the security guard in tow he hadn't even realized he'd gotten it out, preparing to come to Selina's rescue purely out of instinctive concern for her safety. Nevermind that she was technically the one breaking and entering.<p>

He'd need to sit back and analyze that a bit later.

When she'd suddenly backed out of the secret room he'd instantly known there was something wrong. The thick, bullet resistant, acoustic glass along with his own narrow, distorted perspective allowed him very little information about what was going on. Selina's frustrated, furtive glances at the door tipped him off that she'd heard something. That was about the time she began disrobing.

He'd really hoped it wasn't going to be what he thought it was going to be. Luckily it wasn't and she managed to surprise him yet again. Perhaps he was going to have to start giving her a little more credit for her strategies.

Now that she was being escorted out though he needed to beat her back to the penthouse. This time she might head straight there so time was a little less on his side.

He looked back into the unlit bedroom suite before sliding over to glance in the still lit great room. Despite the illumination Selina and the security guard had already made their exit.

Now it was his turn.

* * *

><p>"You came back."<p>

Selina froze for the second time that night at the unexpected words from the nearby bed. Unlike the first though, this one brought a small smile to her face. She may not have achieved everything she'd wanted tonight, but she still had this. Just being here seemed to let the anger and frustration from her disappointing night slough off.

"I told you I would," she whispered, turning and slowly sliding the same dress she'd left earlier in up and over her head before casting it somewhere off to the side. "You wouldn't be doubting me now, would you Mister Wayne?"

He didn't say anything, distracted as he was by her unclipping the bra behind her back and sliding that off too to join the dress. Selina couldn't see much in the darkness. Despite the blinds being partially open, the rising sun still hadn't pierced enough of the darkness to extend to the bed. Still, judging by his silhouette she seemed to have his full attention.

"Doubts?" He scoffed in the darkness. "Never. Didn't even cross my mind."

Selina leaned suggestively into her hip, resting one hand at her waist, clad in nothing but a small, frilly black piece of fabric. "It seems somebody certainly has some confidence in their...abilities. So certain I was going to come crawling back for seconds?"

He chuckled in the darkness. "Just, come here," the shape said, leaving little room for interpretation.

She felt the heat begin to rise up her neck and took the two steps to the edge of the bed, prompting Bruce to draw back the covers and move over to make room for her. When she began settling in he pulled her to him, surprising her yet again with the massive power hidden under all those impossibly well tailored suits as he ran a hand lightly up her arm before trailing it down her back.

She sighed and settled forward into him, nuzzling against the base of his neck as goosebumps formed on her upper arm. She grinned and kissed his ear, eliciting a sigh from him this time. "I guess we didn't _quite _manage to tire you out earlier," she whispered, punctuating each word with another light kiss. "Careful you don't start something you can't finish."

His arm ghosted over her leg, pulling it over him as he rolled on his back, taking Selina with him. "I think you might find I have energy to spare." Bruce kissed down her neck, running his fingers through the hair on the back of her head and causing Selina's eyes to flutter closed reflexively. "The nights of a billionaire can be...intense," he managed.

That caused Selina to smirk, her eyes still closed. "Mmmm," she murmured against his lips as his hands ran down Selina's bare back to rest at her hips. "Promises..."

* * *

><p>"Did you find what you were looking for?"<p>

Bruce was reclining against the soft, upholstered headboard of the bed with Selina propped up against him, the back of her head resting just underneath his chin with one of his arms wrapped securely around her.

"Not entirely," she admitted, not bothering to open her eyes and try and look back at him. He could practically feel the way she relaxed into him with the way he was absently drawing small circles on her arm and side. It had been a long time since he'd actually experienced a normal, stress free morning. "It's unfortunate, but I made progress. I guess that's something."

"Just not as much as you'd hoped?" He leaned down and kissed the back of her head.

Selina shook her head in the negative against his chest and the comfortable silence again enveloped the room. She absently began running her own hand over the forearm that he had draped across her torso beneath the covers. When she ran it up higher to the bicep she felt it and stilled. From the way her jaw tightened he could tell she was frowning, her eyes finally open. Her fingertips though continued to run themselves back and forth over the smooth, jagged line that disrupted the rest of the skin.

"Bruce, I have a question." He felt her shift towards him, keeping her back cradled in against his chest but turning slightly so she could glimpse him over her shoulder.

"The scars?"

Selina nodded and looked away for a second. "I mean, you must have known I'd ask. How..." she hesitated for a second, "...if you don't want to answer I'll understand?"

He _had _known it was coming at some point. Both him and Alfred had often talked about their eventual discovery and the options open to them for explanation. Not necessarily by Selina, but by someone somewhere. Alfred believed in being thoroughly prepared. In one moment of extreme awkwardness his butler had even broached the possibility of exactly the type of romantic encounter he was currently having.

The man's initial idea regarding polo had, of course, been quickly and completely dismissed. Possibilities like mixed martial arts and other violent sports, while more practical, had been equally voted down. As harsh as some of them could be their resulting injuries would still pale in comparison to those the Batman received. It just wasn't believable enough. They'd finally settled on staging a car accident or some other, similar, mishap he could go through that would provide him a built in excuse.

Of course, they hadn't actually gotten around to it yet.

Despite the wriggling guilt squirming in his stomach, Bruce plastered on a small smile and kissed the side of her head, near her temple.

"You remember that prison I mentioned?" He felt her nod against his chest, the hair on the back and side of her head brushing against his chest. "Well it wasn't exactly a picnic and it _was _in China. Let's just say things got...rough at times. Most of the scars are a result." That was a lie. The myriad collection of scars that dotted his body originated mostly after his arrival back in Gotham. Of course he wasn't going to tell her that and he also wasn't going to tell her that most of the engagements he'd been involved with in prison hadn't exactly been situations he'd avoided.

The topic of the Batman _may _come up. Especially if things between them continued to escalate, but he still didn't have much of a handle on what the hell this was exactly. For him or her. Besides, she hadn't exactly been volunteering information about Catwoman either.

"Jesus," she breathed. He felt her trace another scar on his upper arm with her finger. "That's...that's just unbelievable. That that could happen to someone like you. It blows the mind."

"Told you I'd experienced a lot." She nodded, but it didn't wipe away the slightly shocked look. "I don't regret it though," he said, leaning back against the headboard again.

She arched an eyebrow and looked up at him. "Something to do with making you the man you are today?" He nodded and Selina smiled. A look that dropped back off her face a moment later. "Nobody knows that about you either, do they?" she asked, her voice coming out as a whisper.

"You're the first," he confirmed. "Well, besides Alfred."

Selina was now as still as stone against him, a good deal of the comfort that had been between them somewhat evaporated. "Bruce," she asked, "are you sure I'm the one you should be entrusting these things to? These secrets? I mean, I don't necessarily have the greatest track record." She sighed against him. "I just feel like you don't even know me."

Bruce kissed the back of her head again, smiling. "Oh, I don't know, I think I might know you better than you think I do."

She seemed to relax at that, burrowing back into him and closing her eyes again. Until the knock at the bedroom door startled her and had her diving under the covers.

"Good morning, Alfred," Bruce laughed, smacking the cowering shape beneath the duvet lightly. "How does breakfast for two sound?"

A single slender arm emerged from under the white pile of linens accompanied by a muffled, "Hi, Alfred."

The butler smiled, bowing slightly despite her still being completely covered and looking not at all surprised by her presence. It was pretty much as Bruce had kind of expected. "A pleasure to see you again, Miss Kyle. As always. I'll just be off to whip something up for the two of you then. Master Wayne," he said, nodding. "Miss Kyle."

When the door clicked shut Selina shed the covers, folding them over in front of her, but making sure to stay at least somewhat covered up. She shot Bruce an accusatory look. "He didn't exactly sound surprised to find me here. Did you tell him?"

"I didn't even tell him _I _was at the penthouse, much less about you." Selina arched a dubious eyebrow. "What?" he said. "It's true. It's next to impossible to surprise Alfred. I'm pretty sure most of the time he's a couple steps ahead of the rest of us."

"That man could write quite the tell-all, couldn't he? The man behind the scenes of the Waynes" She laughed and slid her legs out from under the covers and over the side of the bed. Finding his white dress shirt she shrugged it on, beginning to button it up. "Bet that would make some dough."

"You don't even know the half of it." Bruce closed his eyes and smiled lightly. "It'd be a best seller at the very least."

* * *

><p><em>AN: So, new Dark Knight Rises trailer out today and The Avengers out on Friday. It's a good week to be a comics dork.  
><em>

_What, oh what could possibly be in that little room? Hmmm? Guesses?  
><em>


	36. Chapter 36

_This was originally supposed to be posted on Friday. Sorry I didn't get to it. _

_Reviews are always welcome and never cease to keep me excited to see what you guys think as well as providing additional incentive to keep going. It doesn't take long, so please do take a moment to let me in on your thoughts. Insight is always welcome and encouraged.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>It was official, Milton Gennaro hated mornings. Whoever decided that the construction industry needed to get its start with the sun barely over the horizon deserved his place in some special kind of hell. It's not that he wasn't a morning person, he was. But there was morning and then there was this.<p>

He jumped down and slammed the door closed to his old pickup, rubbing his hands together in the brisk morning air before stuffing them back in his sweatshirt. Finally the weather was starting to change, heading for Spring and a promise of warmth and sunny days. At least there was that. Of course that still didn't change the fact that the mornings were still damn cold and almost always choked by a thick layer of wet fog that seemed to blanket everything this far from the coast and big city.

Williams Bros. Construction Supply was one of the older family run businesses still in existence in these parts. Having done well for itself they now had three branches in suburbs ringing Gotham about forty miles to the east supplying some of the largest projects undertaken in the area. Unlike most industries, theirs actually improved in the aftermath of the Scarecrow and Joker.

The sign high above the door was still off though. Milt frowned. He was never the first one here and turning the sign on was almost always the very first thing Josh did. He glanced back at the parking lot. Sure enough Josh's truck was just a couple spaces over from his own. Weird. Gennaro shrugged and headed for the front doors. Something must have come up.

When the doors didn't open automatically he frowned again. What the hell? He tried to push them apart only to find them still locked. Peering inside he could plainly see the lights were on, but there was no movement. That second part wasn't odd. The contractors and retailers wouldn't be here for another hour or so at a less ungodly hour.

Milton kicked the door and spat a curse under his breath. He didn't even have keys to the front door. That was Josh's job. He'd have to head around back to the loading dock to get in if the drunkard didn't show soon. If that idiot was hungover _again_...

After another couple minutes of banging on the glass with no sign of his co-worker he finally made his way around the giant building, hopping the small planter wall and unlocking the chain link gate that separated the parking lot from the construction yard at the rear of the facility. He'd have to do this anyway, may as well get the delivery gates open now rather than waiting to find Josh asleep behind a pallet somewhere first.

After a few more brainless opening chores he finally made it inside the showroom through the back service entrance and then through the employee door that separated storage from the aisles and aisles of materials and tools stretching away towards the front door.

"Josh?" he asked. Without other movement or sounds in the cavernous space his voice almost seemed to echo. Milt had expected to find him back in storage somewhere, working off a long night of partying. He'd also been ready to throw something heavy at the man. Being the owner's nephew might get you a lot of leeway from the higher ups, but that didn't mean he had to suffer a fool. But he hadn't been in storage.

Somewhere over towards the power tools he heard a wet sucking sound followed by a muffled giggle.

Son of a...

The drunken idiot had brought a girl with him this time. Gennaro smiled. Maybe this time he _would _actually get fired. His day might be looking up after all. Even family relations couldn't get him out of being drunk on duty _and _screwing someone on the showroom floor.

His footsteps clicked against the linoleum as he rounded the fasteners aisle, skirting down one of the wide, main thoroughfares that ran from the front to the back of the store before approaching the section devoted to tools. He slowed down then, listening, and again heard the same wet sound.

"Josh?" He cocked his head, listening. The sound repeated itself. "_Dammit_, Josh, how many times have I told you to lay off it during the week?" Angrily he pushed forward, rounding the corner. "I can only keep overlooking this for so..."

It was Josh Williams lying on the floor alright. And like he'd suspected the man had the audacity to bring a girl with him

The blood pooling on the floor and staining the shelves and small figure hunched over him were the first indicator that something was amiss. Very, very fucking amiss.

"...long," Milt finally managed, drawing to a frozen stop.

The girl glanced up over her shoulder at him in reaction to his words, moving just enough that she no longer blocked him from seeing what she was doing. Gennaro barely managed to keep his morning's breakfast and coffee down. Before he'd even processed the face paint, the pigtails, or the cheerful smile he watched in terror as she again and again plunged a four inch paring knife into the motionless body of his colleague. Again and again her right arm came down while she still stared at him, continuing to smile as blood splattered against her clothes and arms.

Right about the time fleeing came to mind as a good option a heavy arm wrapped itself around his shoulders, tapping something lightly against his left shoulder. Looking down he saw a gloved hand with a small knife similar to the woman's tapping lightly against his shirt. Glancing to his left brought him face to face with an infamously painted, scarred face staring back at him.

"Hi," the Joker started, stretching out the word, almost making it slither across his teeth.

Milton's head snapped forward again, looking at the dead body and the psychotic kneeling over him. Holy _shit_. He knew the man had escaped, but that was a city problem. This was the damn suburbs. Hell, in another twenty miles you'd start hitting farms. A cold bead of sweat trickled down his back between his shoulder blades.

"Oh, _right. _Your colleague...he, uh..." the maniac waved his small blade at the scene dismissively, "...well, he tested my little Harlequin's patience a bit." The Joker licked his lips, his eyes flaring slightly with a crazed intensity. "You _really _don't want to do that."

Gennaro shook his head numbly, continuing to stare in abject horror at the scene. Was this how he died? On the floor of a construction emporium at the hand of one of the country's most infamous murderers and his...henchwoman? Pet? His throat was suddenly very, very dry.

"_So_. We're here to do a little...shopping," the Joker said. His arm left the man's shoulder and he stepped forward, glancing at the blond and gesturing at them. "I'm assuming you're willing to help us out a little? She really can be a bit...ah...thorough."

Gennaro nodded dumbly and avoided looking at either of them. .

In his periphery the scarred mouth parted into a smile, revealing paint stained teeth. "Ah, good man." He glanced at the shelves lining the walls on either side of them. "Now I understand that this is a...uh...construction materials outlet." Milt nodded. "And of course construction also requires a bit of _demolition._"

And there it was. They wanted explosives. Most jobs didn't require it, but when things like bringing down a tall, old building or quarrying gravel was involved they still used a lot of stuff that went boom. They were tightly controlled substances of course, but Williams Bros. had one of the oldest licenses in the state. All the explosives...the dynamite, black powder, cordite, plastique, and even the detonators and wire were under lock in a large metal cage near the managers office. Hundreds and hundreds of pounds of it.

Milton's eyes flicked back over to the still crouching woman. As soon as his eyes met hers the knife went back into Josh. He slammed his eyes shut.

Who was he kidding? He was no hero and dammit he wanted to live. Or at least hope to live. The message was clear. Refuse them or hinder them and he ended up like the body on the floor. Gennaro took a deep breath. "How...how much?" he managed.

That disquieting smile appeared again.

"Oh, all of it of course."

* * *

><p>Well, it sure as hell hadn't taken them long.<p>

The damned paparazzi. Those goddamned camera vultures.

It was _literally _the same morning that her and Bruce had actually managed to cut through the bullshit and finally act on their feelings and already there were rumors bandied about regarding a new woman in the billionaire's life. Of course, given all things Bruce Wayne tongues had been sent wagging simply by the two of them leaving the memorial together. Apparently even the wealthy weren't above such gossip. In fact, given the quickness with which the news had broken and spread, they may have even been worse than the average Gothamite.

Given her luck of late Selina really shouldn't have been all that surprised.

And with that news the flash bulb swarms had descended.

The first picture of them, a fuzzy, barely identifiable camera phone image of she and Bruce walking down the street towards his penthouse came later in the morning close to lunchtime. More, equally grainy snapshots soon followed, finding their way on to blogs, social gossip sites, and eventually the news channels and print media themselves. Unbeknownst to either of them, any opportunistic person with a fucking phone seemed to have been grabbing the opportunity to snap away.

Obviously, it went without saying that both within Gotham and beyond, Bruce Wayne was big business. Being fabulously rich and ridiculously good looking coupled with some of his past antics had a way of doing that. Now Selina was paying the price for being in his shadow.

By that evening the talking heads on the news channels still hadn't managed to identify her, listing her simply as Bruce Wayne's latest "mystery woman", but to anyone who actually knew her, the tall, black haired woman would be obvious enough.

And now she was good and royally screwed.

Selina leaned back against the wall and banged her head against it. Twice. _Dammit. _This was _exactly _the reason she'd been avoiding Bruce for months. Exactly the reason anything kindled between the two of them had always been doomed to failure. She couldn't bring herself to dismiss or regret the night they'd spent together. Not really. But, did she have to go out of her way to make things more difficult and complicated for herself?

Apparently the answer to that question was a resounding "yes". The man was like her damn kryptonite or something. She just had some kind of dumb, built-in weakness that seemed to make rational decisions a foreign entity.

She banged her head against the wall of the elevator again.

The small group of reporters that had ambushed Bruce outside Wayne Enterprises later in the afternoon was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. She'd watched on live television as he'd expertly skirted every question that referenced her, but knew deep down that it was only a matter of time before the gig was up. She'd be identified...and soon. That didn't leave time to come up with any more long gestating plans. Despite all the work she'd done. All the preparations. One intimate night with Bruce Wayne and it was literally now or never.

With their characteristic chime the elevator doors slid open, revealing the same anteroom as the night before and the normal three man team of immaculately dressed security personnel lounging just inside. Apparently the men from the previous evening didn't have the night shift the following day because this time there were three new faces. Men she'd never seen before despite her careful research into Alberto's bodyguards. That was...unexpected. And not altogether reassuring.

Judging by the way they rose when she exited the metal box and moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with their arms crossed and feet shoulder width apart they were also expecting her. That conclusion was confirmed when they didn't move to let Selina pass to the double doors into the penthouse itself.

Time to play her part then and hope her acting had just as much effect as the previous evening. Selina mirrored their stance, crossing her own arms over her chest and scowling at them. "Uhhh...out of my way?" she tried, lacing the words with more than a little annoyed venom. Neither of the three budged although the solemn gaze sent out from two of them was wavering, flickering back and forth between her and a blank spot on the far wall.

She chose one of those two to continue applying pressure to, angling towards the man on the left of the group.

"Okay, you're new here, right?" He didn't answer, just continued looking at her. Selina blew out an annoyed breath. "What's your name then?"

Still no response. Was the Batman teaching a class or something? Thankfully he also had a name tag.

"Look," she said, leaning forward to get a good look and to provide them all with an eyeful. Thank god for the power of women's...assets over the less fair sex. "_Phil, _since you obviously don't know who I am and..."

He held up a hand, cutting her off. "No, I know who you are. I'm sorry Miss Kyle, but I'm under strict orders. You're no longer permitted inside."

Shit. So, Alberto apparently _did _manage to catch the tabloids or rumors at some point today. Double shit. On to another tactic then.

She stared at the security detail for a second, her eyebrow arched while her mind raced. It also served double duty and let him squirm a little. "So, you're saying Alberto told _you _not to let me in?"

The young man nodded, saying, "Yes, ma'am."

"Jesus," she huffed, trying to look as put out as possible. "Okay, listen...is he in? Can I at least talk to him?" Underneath all the pomp and bravado though her stomach had dropped even further. If she didn't have access to Alberto's apartment anymore...

Again and said with more feeling this time. _Shit_.

"Maybe he's here," the man said, but he didn't reach for his radio. Sure, the guard still appeared a little fidgety and nervous. He'd likely heard of the things she'd pulled on the other security forces in her short tenure here, but he shook his head with conviction. "But he left specific instructions about that too. I'm sorry ma'am, but I'm afraid he doesn't want to see you. Or talk to you."

"Give me the radio," she said, holding out one hand. Her other hand she placed on her hip, channeling every ounce of womanly threat into her stance that she could.

He blinked, but he didn't move.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't..."

"Can't what?" Selina growled. She took a small step forward, crowding the man despite having to look up at him. "Just let me talk to him and explain what a monumental screw-up the tabloids have made?" She flexed her fingers to signal him to hand over the small handset. "Come on. Hand it over."

He shook his head again. This time his eyes darted to the camera in the corner of the room.

Ah, so Falcone was probably watching this whole exchange. Well, maybe she could play to that then too.

"Listen," she said, running her hand through her hair in frustration, "I don't have time for this. Okay? I want to give Alberto an explanation. Even if he doesn't choose to accept it I deserve the chance to explain what actually happened. Besides, I still have belongings inside. I wanna at least go in and get them." Selina crossed her arms before again extending one hand. "Give me. The radio."

The door behind the three opened, revealing a tall, impressively built blond man in a pressed grey suit. The small smile and dancing eyes betrayed none of the lethality and brutal nature that Selina knew the man possessed. Why Falcone kept him around she could never figure out, much less why make him the head of his personal security. The man was a sadist. To say nothing of also being more than a tad bit crazy.

"As manipulative as ever I see," he said, grinning wider and gesturing to the other three men. "Good evening, Miss Kyle. Now, I believe you were asked nicely to leave."

"Christian," she said, crossing her arms defensively, "your hospitality seems to be a bit...lacking of late. What's with the cold shoulder."

He shrugged. "I always told the boss you were trouble. Seems like he finally got the message." The grin that grew on his face gave her all she'd need to know about how deadly serious he was. Of course he was also probably drawing more than a little satisfaction from this. "Go away Miss Kyle. You're not getting in and you're not seeing him."

She'd never liked the head of Alberto's security detail and the feeling was overwhelmingly mutual. From day one of her affiliation with Falcone, right up to the point she arranged a not-so-accidental meeting with him, his head of security hadn't trusted her. She was sure part of it stemmed from the fact that she was a non-stop irritant to him, screwing with him and his men at every opportunity, going where she wasn't supposed to, never agreeing with him or following his direction. He'd probably never had to deal with so many "accidental" security breaches in all his life. Granted, it hadn't been personal, but he'd sure taken it that way. Of course, she'd been doing all that to set her cover ever more firmly in place. If she was known for being a rebel and not listening to authority then it wouldn't be surprising if she _was _caught somewhere potentially compromising.

It further galled him that Alberto routinely sided with her whenever he took his complaints to his employer. Alberto had always had a bit of a soft spot for her that Selina had routinely played upon, much to Christian's frustration. Because of that she'd always known he'd been itching to get a little revenge on her for all the perceived slights.

And with that the bottom of her stomach completely dropped away, her chances of finding Holly's killer began circling the drain alongside it. One final play before she'd have to resort to desperate measures. Not that what she was doing now wasn't all that desperate. Time to attempt to appeal to the man himself. Hopefully he actually _was _watching the cameras. Maybe he still had enough leftover affection for her to once more overrule the hulking blondie.

"Come on, Alberto," she started, looking up at the nearest camera and plastering on her best innocent face. "Let me in. Let's talk about this." Selina grit her teeth, preparing to lie with every ounce of her being. "_Nothing _happened. I swear. Wayne remembered me and wanted to talk to me about _you_. He's got something big going down with Gilchrist Trading. Something he wants to bring you in on. It's an opportunity. For _you_. Just tell this gorilla to let me in and we can talk about it."

Christian chuckled darkly from her right. "You've got a pair, I'll give you that. Unfortunately _he _ain't buyin' what you're sellin' sweetheart. Not this time." The smile widened. "You're done."

Anger replaced frustration and fear, flashing through her veins and making her ball her fists tightly. That she'd been this close only to be denied like this? That she was being summarily dismissed like a child by a man as condescending as this? That all her effort and careful planning was coming to nothing?

"So, this is how you break up with a girl?" she said, raising her voice and glaring at the camera over Christian's shoulder. It was probably juvenile and pointless, but the frustration and anger boiled over and Selina just let it out. She wanted to let it out in a more...physical way, but thankfully she had a little more self control remaining than that. "Huh? Classy. One hundred percent pure class, Alberto. Why am I not the least bit surprised? How's about you come down here and do it to my face instead of sending your goon like a child." With the last part she glared evenly at Christian. He didn't blink.

"Miss Kyle." She snapped a penetrating glance back at the small group of men.

There was no way she could take them on by force. Not without the element of surprise and without her suit and toys. As she was she could maybe handle two of them, but three and the giant blonde? Not a chance. Besides, she'd be on camera doing it. That probably wouldn't be great for her anonymity.

Her eyes narrowed threateningly as Christian started forward, striding towards her until he was looming above, but his arms remained at his sides. He smiled at her again, obviously still enjoying the change of fortunes. "We've been patient and we've asked nicely. Now, you can leave or you can be escorted from the building. Your choice. Keep in mind I can't guarantee my men's...gentleness."

"You wouldn't dare," she hissed. Her eyes narrowed further, but she steadfastly stood her ground.

That cocky, wicked smile on his face grew. "Oh, try me."

Christ if only she had her claws. Taking a beating would almost be worth it to see the look on this asshole's face when she clawed his damn eyes out. Of course that still wouldn't get her anywhere in the end. Selina closed her eyes. And the end was what mattered. The information, not her own feelings and petty need to wipe the sick smile from the man's face had to take precedence. For now.

Selina hated feeling helpless. She planned contingencies just to avoid it. Hell, until last night she'd had three alternate plans in place just to keep Falcone and his thugs firmly under her sway.

All three were now shot to hell along with anything else she'd even remotely considered.

She stared at the smug expression for another couple seconds before wordlessly spinning on her heel and walking the few yards back to the elevator.

Behind her, Christian laughed.

She just shot the man a glare over her shoulder as the doors parted to admit her, striding in and turning defiantly around to face them. They wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing her creep away in shame at least.

When the doors closed though she blew out an exasperated breath.

There was no plan from here. No clever way to turn things around to her advantage. She'd screwed up, plain and simple. There was no way to get around that fact. Every security man Falcone employed would be given the same instructions now if they hadn't already. She'd be headed off the minute she walked out those elevator doors no matter who was on duty. No more coercion. No more intimidation. No more batting her lashes and showing a bit of cleavage. They'd boot her ass out so fast it'd make her head spin.

Of course, they were probably changing all the codes now too.

Shit.

That left her nothing but a hail mary. One long shot, go-for-broke mission to fulfill her promise. It meant she'd actually have to infiltrate the penthouse by force, take out the guards, disable the cameras and electronic security, _and _breach that second vault.

It was unlike anything she'd ever tried in the past, always choosing stealth, secrecy, and surprise over force. Slipping through the shadows and crevices and disappearing before anyone even knew she was there. She was a thief dammit, not a fighter. She knew how to defend herself, sure, but taking on all comers? That just wasn't her. That was...the Batman.

Shit. She was going to need supplies. Lots and lots of supplies.

Selina banged the back of her head again on the wall of the elevator as it headed down to street level.

* * *

><p>"So, not poison this time?"<p>

The bald headed medical examiner looked up, squinting from behind his wire rimmed glasses at the small crowd gathered on the other side of the body and smiled. "Evening Commissioner," he said, nodding to both Bullock and Montoya. "Detectives." He glanced back down at the body he was crouching over and finally shook his head. "And as for poison? No, I don't think so, no."

Montoya felt a cold shudder run up her spine and down her arms. She would have expected a chemical plant to be a little warmer than this. The machinery was still on, humming in the background and belching unidentifiable fumes and steam punctuated occasionally by a rather shrill alarm.

As far as murder scenes went it was one of the more unnerving ones she'd come across.

It was certainly newsworthy when the head of one of Gotham's largest industrial manufacturers was murdered on the floor of his own factory. Axis Chemicals' main processing plant was on the mainland shore across the channel from the China Docks, but still fell under GCPD jurisdiction. At the moment she was wishing it didn't.

Its chief operating officer, Carl Greenwood, lay face down before her, his head turned to the side in a pool of frothy, pinkish liquid. The man's face, horribly contorted in a pained grimace, was frozen, staring off into space towards the giant, open loading bay doors along the west side of the facility. His extremities were equally contorted, the fingers on his hands flexed into claws as whatever had been done to him worked its way through him, forcing the man to claw at himself in agony.

For once though, the victim's lips weren't discolored.

Even without knowing his true fate it still looked horrific though. And painful.

The examiner stood up, brushing his hands together before snapping off the latex gloves in one practiced motion. He turned to look at the Commissioner and two detectives. "Massive internal bleeding from the looks of it." He pointed to the mouth and the still frothy residue at the corner of his lips. "I'd say something he ingested. Forcefully too judging from the ligature marks around the wrists. You'll have my full report in a few days, but my guess would be some kind of caustic chemical." The man glanced at the giant steel tanks looming over them on either side of the wide aisle in which they were standing. Pipes and valves ran up towards the ceiling before branching off and splitting for god knows where, producing an intensely tangled web that crisscrossed the ceiling and walls. "No shortage here of those. Axis produces quite a few," he said. "Stuff's used in industrial processes and for creating chemical reactions. Making rocket fuel, corrosive cleaners, that kind of thing." He looked back down at the body and the man's silent scream. "Horrible way to go. Had to be absolutely excruciating."

Montoya kept staring at the dead man, quietly imagining what his last minutes must have been like. Getting painfully burned, your insides dissolved while you're still alive. "Son of a bitch..." she whispered before silently saying a little prayer.

"Thanks, doc," she heard Gordon say beside her as the medical examiner moved on to something else.

Bullock, however, was watching the Commissioner a bit more pointedly. "Poison? So what, you're liking Ivy for this?"

"Well...yeah," Montoya managed aloud without thinking, nodding to herself. She felt far less sure of herself when the other two men turned to consider her. She swallowed, but nodded again. "I mean, Axis Chemicals _has _been fined and taken to court more times than I can remember. They're always in the news. Everything from illegal waste procedures to environmental contamination. I'll get a complete list put together when we get back. Still, somehow Greenwood's been able to retain control of the company through it all. Off the top of my head I couldn't think of a more appropriate target for her."

Bullock scowled, but Gordon seemed somewhat more convinced. Obviously his mind had already been traveling in a similar direction. The gruff Lieutenant pushed back the brim of his hat and seemed to somehow scowl even more at the dead man. "And we're still scrounging in the mud," her partner grumbled from beside her. "Seriously, we still don't have so much as a name or possible suspect for this shit. Anyone else getting more than a little annoyed by that?"

There had been fingerprints found at the Gilchrist mansion besides those belonging to the man himself and his staff members. Strands of hair too. Not artificial this time, but real hair possessing the all important DNA. Of course nothing had come back when they'd run it all through the federal databases though. The woman was still a ghost.

"Pamela Isley."

Almost everyone in the small group jumped at the sudden unexpected interruption. Bullock squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth in annoyance, his jaw tightening. They all recognized the voice of course. The file folder that smacked down on the concrete floor between them was equally startling.

"Fucker does that just to give me a condition, I swear ta god," he muttered. To his left Montoya hid a small smile behind her hand as Harvey glared at her.

As one though they all glanced up.

The Batman was above them, perched on a massive coolant pipe the ran parallel to the floor for a time before angling upward toward the ceiling. A steel lattice climbed behind him, supporting even more piping and conduits as they ran to their intended destination, casting deep shadows down upon him, bathing him in darkness.

Gordon bent down and scooped up the dossier, thumbing through the first few pages before looking back up, frowning in thought. "Isley?" he asked.

"Activist. Background in plant pharmacology and botany with ties to various environmental groups, some of them extremist. She has a long history as well as the necessary expertise."

"And I'm gonna guess you have more than simple background information on the woman or you wouldn't be bringing this to us?"

The masked man nodded slightly. "She bought a red wig that matches fibers from the other crime scenes. It was at Gilchrist's. And she attacked me while I was investigating."

"When you were...?" Harvey was frowning, his brow creased as he worked it out.

Montoya's eyes widened. "Wait, you...you were there. I mean before the cops were called, you were there. At Gilchrist's. You confronted her?"

The vigilante just stared back at her.

Bullock groaned and threw his hands up in exasperation. "Jesus Chri...you _ever _heard of _back-up_? You make one call and and _voila._" He gestured to the team of officers still working to process the crime scene. The message was plainly clear. With surprise on their side the GCPD could have had the property surrounded and prevented her escape with her having never known they'd even arrived.

The Commissioner frowned and held up a tired hand. "Lieutenant..." he sighed.

"No, no, don't _Harvey _me," the detective grunted, still glaring at the black clad figure crouching in the shadows. "Seriously, this clown lets us in on his little excursion and _bam_, we got a psycho chick behind bars and this poor chump here is still breathin'. Instead he plays free and loose and we get to pick up the pieces. That sound about right?"

This time neither the Commissioner or the vigilante answered.

Bullock grunted. "About what I thought. Christ, I always _knew _this was a bad idea."

Montoya ignored her superior's outburst, her mind already spinning at the implications of the Batman's confrontation alongside the unorthodox murder. "She's changing her methods then," she blurted out, causing Bullock to stop mid-sentence.

The Batman nodded. "I surprised her. She had to leave things behind in order to get away. She's having to adapt, ration her usual poison."

Montoya looked back down at the deceased Carl Greenwood. "Doesn't look like it's slowing her down though, does it? Question is, does that make her more or less dangerous?"

"Shit, does _any _of this even mark this as her's?" Bullock asked, sweeping his hand over the fallen body and the other people going about their business at the periphery. "Seems like we're assuming a whole hell of a lot simply because the man'd been fined for illegal waste...whatever...before. That doesn't automatically make this schmuck Ivy's next victim."

A small, hand written note landed at the burly man's feet, carefully placed in a sealed plastic bag. The three people stared at it for a second before Gordon finally bent down to pick it up. Upon reading it the scowl on his face was all the confirmation they needed.

"It was her," came the deep, gravelly voice from above them.

Wordlessly the Commissioner passed the note to Bullock.

"So much for the chain of evidence," he grumbled, but he read it too. "Just one more thing that ain't gonna be admissible." If the glare Harvey shot the Batman affected him at all, he didn't show it. Silently, the Lieutenant handed the note to Montoya, shaking his head with his jaw still clenched in indignant anger.

It was almost poetic. If not for the horribly contorted body laying a few yards away.

_The earth we abuse and the living things we kill will, in the end, take their revenge; for in exploiting their presence we are diminishing our future. - Marya Mannes_

_I am become the Earth's vengeance. Let no one that has turned a blind eye to our world for profit be safe from its wrath for I am coming for them. _

Like the first note, the one found in Elizabeth Park's apartment, this one too was signed in an elaborate, looping script. Unlike the first note though, this one wasn't a single name. This time it was signed, _Poison Ivy._

Montoya read it again. "She thinks she's some kind of crusader or something."

"She's a friggin' nutjob is what she is," Bullock said, dismissing it with a wave. "I'm sure they'll find a nice, comfy, padded room for her in Arkham." He paused. "Well, once it's rebuilt." He shot yet another glare up into the shadows. "Now if only someone wasn't too busy playing cowboy we might actually get our hands on her."

It was hard to tell, but Renee would bet the fourth person in their little conversation was already gone.

Wordlessly the Commissioner headed for the nearest open delivery door. Several feet away he paused and turned slightly back to the two remaining cops.

"Lieutenant..." Gordon started, speaking to the man but not really looking at him. He hesitated and removed his glasses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Harvey, listen, I know we talked about this before, but I need you two on the same team here. At least for now. As much as you might not like to admit it we need his help right now. Face it, he's good at what he does."

The look on the burly man softened a tiny fraction at the pleading note in the older man's voice, but he didn't respond, merely grunting something unintelligible. Montoya wasn't sure if that was an agreement or yet more hostility, but the Commissioner didn't stick around to pursue the matter, turning around and disappearing out into the brisk night.

The two stood there for a few moments in silence watching the open doors before the Lieutenant started in their direction as well. Montoya followed him.

Halfway out of the building Bullock chuckled darkly beside her. "I don't know," he said, sending her a wide, sarcastic grin when she looked over at him. "Despite what the Commish thinks, I think I'm kinda growing on him."

Renee rolled her eyes and continued following the older man to the door. "Like a cancer, Harv"

* * *

><p>The knock on the open door distracted him from the latest costbenefit analysis from Wayne Pharmaceuticals and Lucius glanced up to the figure in the doorway, surprised to see the company's namesake lounging idly in the entry.

"Busy?"

It was rare to see the young man in the offices at all these days. Much less this late in the day. Fox had already sent his assistant home for the day. Not that Bruce ever paid her presence a great deal of attention.

"Always," he said, but Bruce started across the carpeted expanse anyway. "But for you Mister Wayne, I'm sure I've got a second or two." The older man tapped a couple more keys on the computer in front of him before clicking the mouse and swiveling to face his employer. "Now," he said, smiling, "what can I do for you? Another...special request?"

"In a manner of speaking." Fox removed his glasses and waved his hand at one of the leather seats in front of his desk. Bruce just leaned on the back of it rather than sitting. "I was going through our holdings," the billionaire said. "Concentrating on our industrial investments and...listen, do we have anything, any plants or factories that've been cited for any environmental infractions? Illegal pollution levels? Anything we've had to deal with like that?"

Lucius frowned. Apparently new tech could wait this time. This promised to be something else altogether. "Well, that's certainly...not quite what I expected. Mind if I ask why all the interest? Not everyday you come in here and ask an actual business related question." He turned back to his computer though, signing on to the secure corporate servers.

"Just...curious about the company's environmental practices I guess. You know...preserving things for the future generations." He paused, smiling slightly. "And is it really that unusual? I think I should be offended."

Lucius leaned back in his chair, interlinking his fingers in his lap before him as the computer worked and smiled. He arched a disbelieving eyebrow at the rather out of character admission from the young man until things clicked into place. Fox chuckled lightly to himself at the realization, drawing a questioning look from the billionaire. "Ah. Trying to make sure you stay out of Miss Isley's sights then, Mister Wayne? Again, I have to say, that's kind of unlike you."

Bruce grinned and leaned forward, his forearms resting on the back of the chair. "Trying to ensure I'm her next target, actually. Thought she might react well to a little bait."

Lucius snorted and shook his head. "Well, that's certainly more in line with what I've come to expect. You sure that's such a good idea?"

The younger man fidgeted a little with his fingers, staring down at them. "Honestly? No idea. But I figure it's worth a shot. Something's gotta be done. Getting her off the street certainly wouldn't hurt things and after Greenwood I saw the opportunity."

Lucius nodded and continued scanning the computer monitor, scrolling down occasionally. Every now and then he'd click on something, read over a few passages and exit back out, looking for something that might help. There was decidedly little.

"Well," he finally said, "I'm afraid I may not be of much help. We run things pretty tightly in order to fully comply with every EPA directive in the book. Unfortunately for you, since Mister Earle's...departure we've become one of the world leaders in forwarding green technologies and development _and _Wayne Development built more LEED accredited buildings last year than any other builder on Earth. You might not be coming to the best place to lure out an eco-terrorist."

He crossed around from behind the high backed chair and finally sat down.

"Well, can we acquire one?"

And with that things promised to start getting even more interesting. And expensive. It wasn't that the young man didn't have any concept of money. In fact, given what he was worth he probably had a greater sense than most would have in his position. Lucius chose to credit that to his time traveling abroad. What he knew of it anyway.

Cautiously, Lucius narrowed his eyes. "Acquire what exactly?"

"One that _is _polluting. Badly." He said it like it was something done every day.

Lucius placed his glasses on the desktop and reached up to massage his temple. "So, let me get this straight," he started. "You want to spend millions, possibly tens of millions, to buy a company that is already being heavily fined and scrutinized by the government and Environmental Protection Agency, likely causing a huge public backlash, angering the board, _and _decreasing the value of Wayne Enterprises stock so you can lure out a murderer?"

Wayne shrugged. "We'd fix all the problems once she was in custody. We could spin it as Wayne Enterprise's desire to help clean-up the world or something after the fact."

Lucius fought off the temptation to roll his eyes, but couldn't help sarcastically smirking. "Oh, of course. That goes without saying."

Wayne sat back into the chair, slouching ever so slightly in resignation. "When you say it like that...well, it kind of loses a little...something, doesn't it?" The young man arched an eyebrow. "And tens of millions? Really?"

"Well, it would have to be something with a large enough profile to draw her attention, now wouldn't it?"

The frown on Bruce's face deepened. "I guess I didn't necessarily think this out all the way," he muttered.

Ordinarily Fox wouldn't volunteer to trick a serial killer into marking a friend as their next target. With Bruce though, or rather his other persona, he'd be taking her on anyway one way or the other. As far as he was concerned it was at least better to do it as part of some kind of plan than to be surprised.

With Poison Ivy surprises had a way of being...deadly.

"Listen," he finally said, looking back at the computer monitor, "I'm sure we can come up something that won't involve jeopardizing the company's quarterly report, okay? Just give me some time to think about it and look around. We're bound to have an Environmental Impact Report around here somewhere for something that never actually moved forward. We can leak it and let the media catch wind for a while before admitting it's incorrect." Lucius glanced over to his billionaire employer and smiled deviously. "Either way, Mister Wayne, I'm sure I can come up with something that'll bring her right to your doorstep."

* * *

><p><em>AN: LEED is an accreditation system that actually exists and is placed on environmentally designed and built projects to highlight them in either Bronze, Silver, or Platinum categories._

_Equally, an Environmental Impact Report is a real thing. It's a document that is required of all proposed projects (within the U.S.) that highlights every single impact that project will have on the environment. Everything from water use, to habitat interference, to additional traffic, and pollution levels.  
><em>

_Not the most interesting or action packed chapter ever, but it had to be included. Story is progressing and you're starting to see a little indication as to where it's going. There'll still be some twists though. I think.  
><em>

_Now, go review.  
><em>


	37. Chapter 37

_This took about three weeks which was about a week and a half longer than originally intended. Sorry. Big changes to the overall story occurred though. Let's just say that Ivy's story changed significantly based upon her popularity from what was originally envisioned. Want to know how and what was supposed to happen? Leave a review and ask me. I'll tell you in my response. Is this blackmailing for reviews? Absolutely. _

_Reviews only take a second and make things so worthwhile for us authors. So, take a second and let us know what you think. Insight is always welcome and encouraged and they certainly provide additional incentive to get that next chapter out.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>"Jackasses," Brett Gardner muttered under his breath. He wound his way around another turn past a couple more of the closed, heavy steel doors before squinting to make out the lettering on the placard found at every one of the hallway's intersections. As usual, the series of coded letters and numbers were all but indistinguishable from simple gibberish. Whatever they signified, it eluded him completely.<p>

The sub basement of Police Plaza was huge, spanning out and connecting the various buildings that made up the complex far beneath the city streets. It was also old, the main buildings dating back to the very founding of Gotham in the late 1800's when the Industrial Revolution took hold and turned the port city into a thriving metropolis. The classical, gray-white stone buildings common to that time period was indicative of most of the main civic buildings including the City Hall, Courthouse, and Police Headquarters. Later buildings and additions including the MCU came much later and took on more varied appearances.

These subterranean mazes originally housed the city's jail, medical examiner, and morgue in addition to an abundant amount of storage space. By burying them beneath the buildings and streets any means of escape and the...less than sanitary nature of the time period was hoped to be avoided. Through time those uses were eventually moved to less undesirable locations. Turns out nobody likes living or working in a dark, dank, windowless environment. With the completion of Blackgate and later Arkham Asylum the jail was emptied. The morgue and medical examiner found a home at Gotham General within another year or two, leaving these levels to slowly be forgotten because of disuse and inconvenience.

And here he was lost in their depths.

The next intersection revealed more of the same. A narrow hall punctuated regularly with heavy steel doors and dust covered filing cabinets and tables on either side. A single pipe ran down the center of the slightly curved ceiling with a single, bare light bulb strung out at fifteen foot intervals.

If nobody had ever used this place to film a horror movie they'd sure been missing out. The place was perfect. Nevermind the fact that there was almost assuredly real ghosts in a place that looked like this. There _had _been a morgue after all.

His own reason for being down here had been forgotten within ten minutes of arriving. It was a practical joke. There was simply no other explanation for sending him down here. The GCPD didn't store anything down here anymore that wasn't intended to be forgotten. All this place was good for was ghost stories and getting young, naive cops lost for fun and games.

Ever since he'd come to the rather obvious conclusion Gardner's new quest was just finding the damn stairs. It was a task at which he was utterly failing.

"Patrolman?"

The sudden question from behind him caused Brett to stumble, reaching out and catching himself on a nearby pipe that ran from floor to ceiling before he was able to regain any form of balance. Laughing nervously he turned around to find a rather small, scruffy man studying him curiously.

"Shit. Sorry to scare ya," the man managed, looking a little sheepish. "Just aren't usually too many people down here's all."

Brett waved it off, still trying to still his rapidly beating heart. Apparently this crazy place had his nerves up a little more than he'd realized and damn if the little man hadn't been quiet. "It's okay," he finally managed, straightening up and really looking at his surprise guest for the first time and his disheveled, but ordinary clothing with the gold shield clipped to his belt. "Detective?"

"Call me Ian," he said, holding out a hand and smiling to reveal a row of small, dirty teeth.

Okay. Must be a smoker.

"Brett." He shook the offered hand. "Good to meet ya."

"Likewise. Now, no offense, but what're you doing down here? You know there's a lot of restricted access stuff right? There's crap down here nobody wants to see the light of day."

Actually that was news to him, but the rookie nodded, glancing over to look down several of the gloomy passages that branched out in different directions. "I was sent down by my supervising officer to get something. I'm startin' to think it's a little bit of fun or rookie hazing or something. Send the new guy down and let him get lost for awhile, ya know? Either that or he just wanted me out of his hair."

Ian smiled that same crooked, stained smile and laughed. "Yeah, that happens. Which one they get you with? The one about the caged man-bat they keep down here or the giant unkillable zombie?"

Gardner frowned. Zombie? People believed that crap? "Actually he just asked for a stack of forms." Brett glanced at his note. "P-22's to be exact."

"Ah." There was that grin again. "The P series doesn't go above P-12. Sorry, mate. Just a bit of fun I'm afraid. You want me to show you the way out?"

Crumpling the note in annoyance and stuffing it back in his pocket Brett nodded, prompting the smaller man to turn and make a right down the next side corridor. After a left and another right the young patrolman was right back to being as turned around as he had been before. Thankfully Ian seemed to know exactly where he was.

"So," Gardner started, "a giant zombie that's..." From somewhere down the hallway they'd just passed a loud beep cut off his train of thought, stopping him in his tracks. "You hear that?"

The smaller, disheveled detective paused, cocking his head. "Yeah. So?"

"So there's barely even enough electricity down here to keep these things running," he said, absently pointing at the bare overhead lights. He was met with a blank stare. "So, what the hell was that then?" He stepped back to get a better look down the corridor. "Besides, that was _definitely _not something all that old. It sounded way too much like a computer or something electronic."

Ian frowned. "Like I said, there's stuff down here that's supposed to be kinda kept a secret. We're not supposed to be snooping around. Now, the stairs are right up here," he said, nodding in the direction they'd been headed. "You coming?"

"Give me a sec." He took another step forward, now entering into the side corridor. In the increased gloom his eyes adjusted rapidly, taking in details he'd missed at first glance. Further down he could just make out a dark shape sticking out from the wall ahead. One of the heavy doors that appeared periodically was standing open. The beeping noise chimed in again, definitely originating from further down in front of him.

"Hey man." The patrolman glanced at the nervously fidgeting detective. At this point he was throwing hurried looks up and down the main hallway. "Come on Brett, I'm sure it's nothing. Leave it."

He waved the warning away. The place was deserted except for the two of them. Who'd know. "It's fine," he said, starting forward again. "Relax and wait there. I'll be right back. I just wanna take a quick look."

"Patrolman..." the other man started. The voice trailed off when Gardner moved forward again further into the gloom toward the open door. Apparently the detective had finally come to grips and just let the issue be.

Upon closer look the door was rusty and slightly deformed with age. Almost two inches thick it had been a part of the jail system that was once in place. Probably solitary confinement. Weirdly, the handle was hanging strangely from its face with the keyhole nothing more than a small, blackened crater in the otherwise smooth surface.

Had the lock been blown apart?

The room itself was empty save for several pallets of unmarked brown bags stacked high beneath old, musty blankets. Larger than anyone would have guessed from the outside the room had two large concrete columns coming down near the center of the room. The pallets and a small table circled them.

Gardner stepped forward, nearly tripping on an extension cord that had been hardwired into the fusebox next to the doorway on the inside of the room and that snaked toward a briefcase sized metal container on the table.

The case beeped.

What the?

The metal was smooth and featureless with no latches or locks plainly visible, just a seam where the lid fit into the body of the thing. Removing it didn't exactly shed a lot of light on the matter. Far from being an engineer all Brett knew for certain was that there was a lot of wiring, a few circuit boards, a keypad attached to a blank LCD display and what looked like a wireless modem attached to the side.

"Weird," he muttered. This was so out of place in the dusty, neglected sub basement as to be truly a mystery. It also probably didn't mean anything good. He'd have to tell somebody about this.

"That's certainly one way to put it." Brett's head shot up. It was the same small detective with the awkward appearance, but the voice was noticeably different. Gone was the fluctuating nervousness and the hesitation, replaced instead with a calm, cool, assured quality that was almost menacing. He brought a lit cigarette to his lips, blowing out a small cloud of smoke as he leaned in the doorway. "That," he said, "would be a bomb. A very large one."

Gardner's whole body went cold. A bomb? And this detective knew about it? His mind spun. What had he gotten himself into. "The fuck?" he finally managed. "That's..." he slowly stood up, taking a hesitant step back from the device. "That's a goddamn bomb!

Ian smiled slightly, nodding. "And those," he said, pointing to the giant concrete columns, "are the anchorage point for the entire building. That's where it connects to the bedrock." He puffed lightly on the cigarette before smiling again. "It's a shame really. Nobody was supposed to find this down here." He patted the topmost bags on the pallet nearest the door fondly. "My little insurance policy."

"What the hell are you talking about? Why would you put that down here? You're a..."

"Cop?" the small, smug little man asked. "Actually that might be a _wee _bit of a...fabrication. It's actually surprisingly easy to play the part though. You have no idea the satisfying sense of irony I get when I actually arrest someone." A cold bead of sweat ran down between Brett's shoulder blades. The man was far too calm for having been discovered. "No, no...I'd actually describe my current profession as more of a...well, spy I guess." He smiled again, blowing out another puff of smoke. "I'm an independent contractor."

"What...what're you going to do?"

Ian frowned. "Actually, that's not up to me. Like I said." He patted the brown bag again. "This is all...just in case. A worst case scenario if you will. Yet another part of the game."

"Game?"

"Of course. What else would it be? Sadly, it seems as though you came woefully unequipped to participate. My apologies, but I just can't afford to have any uninvited interruptions." He produced a small, silenced handgun, holding it casually at his side and again took a drag from the cigarette. Gardner's entire body tensed, but his mind was still racing, trying to catch up to all that was happening around him. There was only one door out and it was too far away and blocked by the man bearing the gun. A small, shallow smile appeared on Ian's face and the false detective raised the weapon. "If it makes any difference, I assure you it's nothing personal."

* * *

><p>The rushing torrent of the waterfall always managed to give the cave a kind of white noise, providing background to what would have otherwise been an eerily quiet environment save for the occasional chirps of its more natural inhabitants. It was an effect Alfred had always been glad for. The bunker had a kind of silent, simple, austere simplicity that was almost unnerving. A quality that the butler most certainly didn't miss. The cave's more organic nature with its rock walls and the constant presence of water was somehow more homey and comfortable.<p>

The old man shook his head, chuckling softly to himself as he made his way down the metal stairs.

Had he just referred to the network of caves beneath Wayne Manor as homey?

Bruce was where he'd been for the majority of the past several days, on his chair perched over either the monitors or the latest print out of whatever file he thought might hold a clue. Other than the occasional venture out at night in search of other evidence or additional answers the young man had been practically spending all his waking hours down here. Apparently, as usual, the fact that the obsession driving him wasn't healthy wasn't enough to dissuade the man.

Two days previous the Joker had stolen yet another collection of demolition charges, this one from a large construction site in the Appalachians where a mining operation was being set up. The psychotic had left three security guards murdered and made off with the largest collection to date.

It marked his fourth such heist. The man now had in his possession several tons of high explosive and the wiring and detonators to actually do something with it. That thought alone was enough to send an extra chill down the old man's back.

Bruce also hadn't had more than a couple hours sleep since the second theft. Even the calls from Selina had been going unanswered.

The stress and worry lines had only deepened on his young charge's face when he'd uncovered even more damning information. In reviewing the various records to try and uncover further potential construction targets for the scarred lunatic Bruce had uncovered a sales receipt. Appearing genuine and bearing all the proper documentation and federal and state certifications he'd almost missed the company name.

Sionis Industries.

The same faceless corporation that owned Matakami Towers and several other properties around town. The supercomputers were already busy data mining the internet and any accessible servers to find what they could. Thus far though it had all the markings of some kind of false front. Finding what was beneath the surface, hidden away would be a challenge.

The signature at the bottom was unmistakable as well, Edward Nigma's scratchy handwriting easily legible at the bottom of each form. As was his name. That meant Sionis Industries, the Black Mask, and the Riddler were all somehow linked _and _they now had in their possession a good quantity of dynamite and nitrogen rich fertilizer which they'd somehow managed to purchase legally.

The why for both the Joker and the Riddler, however, remained a mystery.

Bruce had stayed awake for nearly thirty-six hours following the discovery of that bit of information. It had taken a lot of coaxing and the threat of a sedative to get the man to rest at all and even then it hadn't been nearly enough. People's lives were at stake so it was difficult for Alfred to fault him, but he'd do no one any good, least of all himself, if he couldn't be at his best.

Alfred paused at the top of the small staircase leading from the elevator to the computer center.

"The guests are beginning to arrive, sir," he said, resting one hand lightly on the cable railing. The younger man below him didn't move, his feet propped up on a railing alongside the bank of servers next to the computer workstation as he flipped through some kind of list while streams of data ran by behind him on several of the monitors. Alfred moved forward down several of the steps, his footsteps clinking hollowly on the metal grating. "Master Wayne?"

This time the billionaire did look up, his face worn and slightly unshaven as though he were almost surprised by the other man's presence. He sighed tiredly and blinked several times before nodding, dismissing his butler. "I'll be up soon, Alfred. Just another minute or two." And with that he went back to his list.

The older man frowned and continued moving forward though, coming to his employer's side.

"You said the same thing a quarter hour ago. I'm afraid that time has past." Bruce glanced up again, this time meeting his friend's eyes and paying attention. Alfred smiled. "Besides, a little time away from here might do you some good. Clear your head and such. Staring at these names and numbers for hours on end isn't going to suddenly reveal anything new." Bruce ran a hand over his tired face. "Wayne Manor needs a Wayne presiding over things, sir."

The younger man closed his eyes, but finally nodded, tossing the list to the nearby desktop and rising to follow the butler back up to the residence.

It wasn't until they were in the elevator with Bruce leaning against the car's cage that he spoke again, staring blankly into space.

"It's bad, Alfred. Riddler's one thing, but he's generally meticulous, surgical even." The young man sighed, running his hand again over his face. "It's Joker. I don't like thinking about someone that unstable with that much explosives in their possession." His eyes finally snapped down to focus on those of his mentor. "He's planning something. Something big. And I'm no closer to figuring out what that might be. We both know that man is capable of anything."

"I do, sir, and I understand the sentiment. The longer he's loose the more dire things become. Despite what you might think I _do _understand your drive and your reasoning, but you must also realize that you need to..."

"Know my limits," Bruce murmured, not meeting the other man's gaze as the car jerked to a halt and the bookcase parted in front of them to reveal the manor's study. Alfred followed him into the warmly lit room.

"I was going to say that you need to enjoy some aspect of your life. This drive _will _burn you out eventually if you let it. You need something...else. Despite what you think you see there is joy and happiness to be found, something beyond a faceless desire or the memory of your parents."

Bruce grinned sadly. "That's what I keep you around for, Alfred." Before he could come up with something to express how ridiculous that notion was the billionaire went on though. "Harvey Dent once made the statement that Batman didn't want to be Batman forever. How could he?" They exited the study, turning left for the back stairs. In the direction of the great hall and foyer one could already hear the low murmur of guests arriving. "It's true too," Bruce said, shaking his head. "I know that. I don't want this forever. I want something else eventually."

"Master Wayne, my worry isn't that you'll try and be Batman forever." The young man studied Alfred as the two continued down the hall before glancing back down at the carpet. "It's that you'll try and be him one day longer than you should. Because that one day may too late for us all." The two continued on a moment in silence. "I made a promise to your parents once. A long time ago not long after you were born to keep you safe. To protect you as best I can. It's a promise I've always intended to keep, but now I fear that may not be entirely up to me anymore."

His employer didn't look at him, simply continuing to eye the floor as they mounted the staircase, twisting up towards the master suite.

"Perhaps there's a chance he plans to move on from Gotham?" Alfred offered halfway up to the second floor, changing the subject. "Each of the thefts _have _taken place further and further away from the city. The last wasn't even in the same state. Could he be moving on?"

Bruce immediately shook his head firmly in the negative. "I'm still here. He's not going anywhere. The Joker won't go away, won't accept defeat until he's broken either me or Gotham. It's that simple. It's all a part of his madness. Maybe he's trying to lead authorities away and maybe he's just running out of places where he can get his hands on what he needs, I don't know. But the Joker isn't just going to go away. Not while we're still standing."

The pair entered the master suite, Alfred following his employer where the freshly pressed tuxedo was still waiting as the butler had left it. Bruce immediately crossed over to it, lifting the dark shirt he was wearing over his head in the process.

"Do we continue following the trail he's left then?" Alfred asked his retreating form from the doorway before following him in. "Attempt to guess his next stop?"

Bruce paused halfway through removing his jeans, his forehead lined in thought before finally shaking his head again. "Other than military caches there's not much left within three hundred miles for him to rob," he said. "We've already been through that. The things he's after were already hard to come by before and now he's hit most of the likely targets. No, let's start trying to figure out what he can do with it all."

"And what _would _a man like him do with it?"

Sitting down, the younger man shrugged as he pulled on the black slacks Alfred had handed him. "Chaos. The Joker wants chaos. Anarchy. He wants to prove that in the end man will operate on a baser level. That anyone can be...well, him I guess...given the right circumstances."

Alfred paused halfway through folding the discarded clothing. "Quite unsettling," he murmured, looking back towards Wayne.

Bruce went on as though he hadn't heard him though, absently speaking to the room in general as he mindlessly went about getting changed. By now he was as much developing his train of thought as he was speaking to his butler. Or anyone for that matter.

"Infrastructure, utilities, electronic records...anything that he can destroy to set people back even temporarily into a more primitive state. He wants to prey on the fight or flight response so he's going to need panic, a lot of panic if he wants to outdo his last attempt, which he will." He stood up, shrugging on the white undershirt before finally leveling a gaze at his confidante. "Let's look into the kinds of security that's in place for some of those things. The power grid, public transportation, water service...what will be the easiest for him to access? What will cause the most havok?" He stopped and glanced at his reflection in the nearby mirror on the armoire, putting his hands on his hips. "I should really be working," he finally said.

That comment elicited a sigh from the gray haired man behind him. "Need I remind you _again_ that you _are _the host for this evening. This is _your _home. People _will _expect you to actually be here."

"So what if I just make an appearance then?" Bruce said, turning to look at him while he began buttoning up the white linen dress shirt. "Nobody'll notice if I'm not there _all _night. Mingle for a bit, make a speech or something and get back to it."

Alfred almost chuckled, remembering how prophetic those words could be. "Let's avoid any speeches tonight, shall we?" he quipped, prompting Bruce's features to screw up in confusion. "Lucius is _still_ trying to repair the final bits of damage you caused the company the last time you made a speech in Wayne Manor."  
>Of course he hadn't been there personally to witness the infamous act Bruce had put on during his thirtieth birthday gala, but he'd certainly heard and read much about it since. "Perhaps we can try to keep tonight's festivities a little more...conventional than the last event the mansion hosted?" He smiled and winked at his charge, prompting a smirk in return. "I really hope to not go through another rebuilding project anytime soon."<p>

"You're really going to keep blaming me for the fire, aren't you?" Alfred smirked at him. "I did what I had to. We both know that. Nothing that happened that night could really have been helped." Bruce slipped the piece of black fabric that would eventually become a bow tie around his neck and looked back at Alfred. "Besides, I got everyone out, didn't I?"

"The one fact that managed to save you from having to deal with me. Next time I may not be so benevolent."

That got a smile and slight chuckle out of the Bruce. "Oh, really? And what happens if I decide I need some time to myself tonight without any visitors?"

"Oh, I've taken precautions to ensure a repeat performance doesn't take place this evening. I think a drunken diatribe ought to be the last thing on your mind." He winked at Bruce. "I believe _she _should be arriving along with the rest of the guests."

In the mirror's reflection Bruce's eyes darted over to where Alfred stood near the bed, looking over the remainder of his employer's outfit. "She? Selina's here?" His question would have seemed nonchalant if not for the way he slipped while tying the bow tie.

The older man nodded as he brushed an errant piece of lint from the suit's jacket, smiling knowingly. "I phoned her and had her added to the guest list." His eyes met Bruce's in the mirror and smiled. "I thought she might prove a welcome distraction."

* * *

><p>The car dropped her off in front of the wide, worn stone steps leading up to the mansion's main entrance amongst the rest of the other arriving guests. The line of cars snaking away was still dropping party goers off at a leisurely pace while black clad greeters opened doors and ushered people forward. Despite being thirty minutes late there appeared to be little rush to actually make it inside the building. Groups of well appointed, richly adorned people casually chatted away on the wide front walk as others made their way through an impromtu receiving line and into the brightly lit interior.<p>

Christ, what was she even doing here? God knows the mere sight of her would probably send some tongues wagging and produce all sorts of new fodder for the idiot gossip rags. Bruce Wayne's latest conquest? The newest in a long line of gold diggers looking for their piece of the pie?

Nevermind what the tabloids theorized, there was still the question of what they were in reality? She'd immediately dismissed the entire notion of a conventional relationship. That just wasn't...her. Especially not right now. She had obligations.

Besides, who the hell would see her as the 'girlfriend' type anyway? Nevermind the woman you brought home to meet the folks. She was Selina. The one time street urchin that had brought herself up by all manner of random activities. The lengthy list included everything from waiting tables to bartending. There was even that period when she'd occasionally dance under the ever watchful eyes of her regulars. Thankfully, little by little, she'd gradually developed some more profitable skills.

Not that becoming a master thief was exactly above board. But it sure beat the alternatives.

And now she was standing on the front steps of Wayne Manor, about to rub elbows with Gotham's elite without an agenda or a goal in mind. For once she was simply invited to be...her. No parts, no marks, and for the first time in recent memory the flutter of nervousness in her gut.

Bruce. And how exactly would he react to her presence? Not much had been said since _that _morning when they'd eventually parted ways. The pair of times she'd called had gone unreturned. The fact that she found she even cared made her cringe with the way it reminded her of a damn schoolgirl.

Her eyes found one of the valets toting the bag to the curb that she'd had stowed in the vehicle's trunk before dropping it carelessly to help a nearby couple out of their own town car. She'd decided to bring her gear with her from now on whenever possible. There was no telling when her next opportunity at the penthouse might present itself or how long it would last and she'd need to be ready. After all, if nothing else, Selina Kyle was adaptable.

She sighed and turned back to eye the intricate brick and stone facade, snapping back to her previous line of thought and her rather unorthodox feelings toward the resident billionaire. God this was getting her nowhere. Again, she was Selina Kyle dammit. She didn't do pining. She didn't do overanalyzing. Indifference was normally a genetic trait with her right alongside a normally unflappable demeanor.

"Well, I see you're still managing quite well for yourself."

Clouded by her thoughts she hadn't noticed the figure that'd arrived several cars behind hers. Selina clenched her jaw, but forced an obviously disingenuous smile. It was an expression he returned.

"Alberto," she said, nodding at the man before quickly turning a cold shoulder to him. Apparently he wasn't going to be so easily dissuaded though, quickly stepping up to her side as the two faced the sprawling, lively mansion before them.

"I was wondering how you happened upon an invitation to this thing, but I suppose I don't really need to ask, do I?" he smirked. He cocked his head, thinking for a second before gesturing to the massive residence. "Guess I shouldn't feel too put out though. Can't say I really blame you for latching on to Wayne. His much larger bank account must be quite the draw. You're not the first woman." He faced her, a large, smug smile gracing his smooth features. "Lord knows you won't be the last either."

Selina rolled her eyes. "You know," she said evenly, "Bruce actually has quite a few attractive qualities beyond his wallet, Alberto. Most of which the two of you don't share." She smirked at the glare he was sending her, a fun thought popping into her head. Time to twist the knife ever so slightly. A thoughtful look overtook the annoyed one she had been wearing, her eyes narrowing as she looked Alberto over. "Though when it comes to things I'm after that are much larger than yours his money comes in a very distant second to...other things." Selina suggestively lowered her eyes to glance at Falcone's pants before cocking her head to the side and feigning contemplation. "Maybe third. You should see the size of his bedroom too."

Falcone glared at her. "Cute. You know, leaping from one bed to another is a fairly unbecoming trait in a woman. I believe they have a name for that."

"And we've apparently stooped to name calling now, have we?" Selina crossed her arms in front of her and cocked an eyebrow. "I guess I was just expecting...more from you. Though I suppose by now I should be used to you disappointing me."

Falcone scoffed and opened his mouth to rebut yet again when the large presence of his ever present shadow, Christian, stepped forward into his periphery, drawing his attention. The large blond man offered him a cell phone before whispering something quietly in his ear. Judging by the scowl on his face it wasn't especially good news.

"And he needs to bother me with this now?" he asked the massive bodyguard. It resulted in the man whispering again in his ear and again causing the smaller man's features to cloud up in annoyance. "Fine," he spat, "make the call and see that the plane is fueled." He snatched the phone away from Christian and put it to his ear, casting one final glare at Selina before stalking off. His shadow pulled out another cell phone and began dialing it while continuing to keep at his side.

So, Falcone was heading out of town. That meant an uninhabited penthouse. That also meant the least security possible. And like that Selina suddenly had a window of opportunity.

"Trouble?"

Her expression softened instantly, a genuine smile emerging on her lips as she turned to find a tuxedo clad Bruce Wayne coming up to her side. The smile only widened when he bent down and pressed a soft, leisurely kiss to her cheek.

"I honestly think you just enjoy watching him squirm," Bruce said, watching the man's back as he continued to hold a hushed conversation on the phone. "Oh, and you look beautiful too by the way."

Selina shrugged before leaning into his side ever so slightly. His hand ghosting lightly on her back was unmistakable in its warm, comfortable meaning. "Nothing I couldn't handle." She glanced up to meet Bruce's eyes. "You I enjoy making squirm. Him," she said, glancing back at Alberto one last time, "him...well, him I just want to strangle every time he opens his mouth." Selina smiled at Bruce. "Sadly, using you to insult his manhood is as close as I think I'll get."

His smile faltered adorably into a look of confusion. "Wait, what?"

Selina grinned. "Nothing. And don't worry, I made you look good." She took his arm as he continued to look on questioningly and directed him up the steps towards the front door trying to ignore the myriad looks being shot in their direction. Obviously her sense of anonymity was about to take a monumental hit. She chose to forget that fact for the night. May as well enjoy things while she could.

"Any more surprises in store for me?" she finally asked, playfully nudging his shoulder.

Bruce actually cringed ever so slightly. "Sorry about that. I was hoping to spare you any uncomfortable run-ins. Unfortunately, I wasn't exactly informed of your attendance until...recently." Selina followed his glare and chuckled when she noticed Alfred weaving amongst the crowd. "Either way, Alberto already had his invitation. And apparently I have...oh...zero control over who is actually invited to my own party."

Selina winked up at him. "Just another example of the price of being fabulously rich and famous I suppose," she said. "They always get you with the fine print, don't they?"

"Excuse me? Ma'am?" The two turned to find a very young valet walking quickly up to them. "Where would you like this, Miss Kyle," he said, holding up Selina's black bag.

She turned to look up at another questioning look from Bruce and smiled. "Oh...what say you take that up to the master bedroom for us. Thanks."

The valet's eyes widened and he glanced at Bruce. "Sir?"

Bruce blinked once. Then twice. "Uh," he managed. "You can give that to Mister Pennyworth. He'll make sure it gets where it needs to go." Both eyebrows quirked even higher when the man continued past, hustling with the duffel from Selina's town car. "Being a little presumptuous, aren't we?" he finally asked her, but it was with a good natured twinkle in his eye.

Selina shrugged and smirked at him.

Presumptuous was certainly one way of putting it. Just not in the way he was probably intending. She'd brought Catwoman's gear tonight on a whim, more as part of a new strategy than anything specific. A new habit she wanted to instill in herself. The fact that she may actually end up making use of it with Falcone going out of town was pure dumb luck. No sense in slamming the door on the the man's hopes entirely though.

Widening her smile she dug an elbow into his ribs. "Well, with an attitude like that only if you're a very, very good billionaire tonight, Mister Wayne." She cocked her head as though in thought. "Or very, very bad I guess depending on how you choose to look at it. And it's _prepared _by the way. I'm _prepared_. That whole sleep rumpled look won't be making another appearance if I have anything to say about it, got it?" Selina paused and grinned mischievously up at him. "So, you're not implying that you don't want my company tonight, are you?"

"I'm many things, but a fool isn't one of them." He bent down and brushed his lips against her temple. "It really is good to see you though. I'm sorry I've been so busy lately. Despite what the papers say I actually manage a day of work here and there. It's been...hectic lately."

They entered through the yawning, open doorway flanked by what appeared to be decades old columns into the well lit, cheerful foyer. She'd been here before, of course, back when she'd been in a bad place and had needed some reassurance. That time she'd been too preoccupied to really take the place in and appreciate what was all around her.

That the manor was huge went without saying. Somehow though it didn't seem oppressive or looming the way many large, overly worked structures can. Perhaps it was the throngs of people mingling about, but the building actually felt like a home more than it did a museum as well. Credit was probably due Alfred for that. Well him and the original manor's architect from long ago. She eyed the rich, intricate woodwork. This place must have been pure hell to put back together.

Halfway through the entry the large stairway came into view, its thick wooden balustrade traveling up to her right before turning ninety degrees and extending to the balcony that overlooked part of the first floor. Multiple ornate, ancient, wrought iron chandeliers hung down from the heavy timber beams arching overhead, casting brilliant light throughout the space while tiny, more modern spotlights illuminated each rare piece of art dotting the walls and sparkling on the polished marble floors.

Selina smirked. Okay, so _homey _was probably the wrong word.

No matter how she referred to it though, like the penthouse, it blended things together in a timeless way that seemed somehow both familiar and altogether alien to Bruce. Like he both belonged and didn't. As much as this was his house it was also still his parents and the other generations of Waynes stretching away into the past. It didn't strike her before, but despite being simply a copy of the original the air felt thick with memories and presence. This was as much, if not more, about them than it was about Bruce's home. His desire to somehow keep the past alive within himself.

"Love what you've done with the place," she whispered, her eyes still raking over every last detail as he took her coat and handed it to a waiting usher.

She couldn't help it, it was the thief in her that had her processing more than just the decor, taking in the access points and probable security measures. That level of attention though allowed for an even greater sense of appreciation than most. Everything was understated. Expensive to be sure, but unobtrusive and less gaudy than most with the Wayne family's wealth would have gone for. Selina almost regretted their situation not having fallen under different circumstances. Almost. Wayne Manor would have been one hell of an entertaining test for her.

"Anyway," Bruce said, breaking back through her silent musings, "something unexpected came up at the office and I needed put in the time. It's not often, but it _does _happen."

Selina nodded absently, still taking in the mansion as they moved into sprawling great room. "I read about the corporate restructuring with Gilchrist Trading. That must have been...well, I'm not sure fun would be the applicable term. Profitable?"

It was Bruce's turn to nod now. "Lucius certainly knows what he's doing. Normally all I have to do is put my signature on the paperwork when it's all done and things are wrapped up. With Riley being murdered though I felt like this deserved a little more personal attention."

"Oh?" Selina turned a questioning eye towards the billionaire. "Were you two friends?"

"No," he said, pursing his lips. "Acquaintances, I guess. Business colleagues. Our families go way back though. They both made their money in Gotham together. This city's been good to us both. Just felt like the thing to do, you know? Feels weird that the Gilchists are coming to an end."

There it was again. That preoccupation with the past and the Gotham that once was. Selina had never been one to live in years gone by. Her own childhood and time spent growing up was something she'd rather forget than a commodity she'd ever want to cling to. Like many, hell like Bruce, her own experiences helped shape her, forging her into someone consumed with the present at the expense of tomorrow or distant memories. Until Holly's death at least.

She couldn't begrudge Bruce his memories though. Not when he actually had something worth remembering.

Obviously he'd misunderstood her silence and thoughtful expression though, asking, "What?" when she didn't answer.

"Nothing." Selina shook her head and smiled, leaning into him just a little bit more. "Just, every time I think I have a part of you all worked out you show me something new. It's..."

"Disconcerting?" Bruce tried. He plucked a couple flutes of champagne from a passing platter and passed her one.

Selina shrugged. "No," she said. "Just...interesting is all. Don't worry though." She smiled and looked up at him. "I tend to like most surprises. Keeps me on my toes."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," he said wistfully, a small smile ghosting across his features.

* * *

><p>With Selina off greeting Alfred the crowd seemed to grow a little more brazen and descend a bit on Bruce. Most of it was well intentioned enough, old family friends or those that still remembered his parents first hand congratulating him on bringing back the famous dwelling. He actually enjoyed some of that a bit, hearing about fond memories of Thomas and Martha and times within these walls.<p>

Some of the attention directed from the younger, more female guests was a little more unwelcome though. Questions about his availability were even less subtle.

And so he found himself taking a break from the faux smiles and petty conversations, lingering near the giant tapestry dating back to the Norman conquest and trying to remain as inconspicuous as his status and stature allowed without actually hiding. These days spying on others seemed to come more naturally to him than actual human interaction anyway. It was a fact of life that Alfred would have hated and reproached him for.

He'd been left to his own thoughts for less than five minutes when Lucius Fox excused himself from a conversation with two of the other board members and made his way over.

"You know, it's funny how an internationally renowned playboy can manage to hide in plain sight." Fox grinned and extended his hand to Bruce in greeting. "Good evening, Mister Wayne."

"Lucius," he said, shaking the man's offered hand. "Enjoying yourself?"

"I am," Fox said, stepping sideways next to Bruce so he was shoulder to shoulder with the young man, affording both of them an uninterrupted view of the mingling crowd. "It's nice to see this place back to what it was. Somehow Gotham's just not the same without Wayne Manor."

Bruce frowned and sent him a sidelong glance. "You know, the city seemed to move on just fine with or without this place."

"That's what they do," he agreed, gesturing at the masses. "But, I didn't say that. I said it wasn't the same. There's just something about this place. I don't know. Either way it's nice to see the Waynes back where they belong."

"You know, I hadn't really stopped to think about it much while it was under construction. I just wanted to have it done, for my parents...and for me too. But now..." Bruce trailed off for a second. "It's just...it's an awfully big house for just me and Alfred."

"I'm sure you'll manage. Besides," he said, his eyes lingering on the sight of a familiar dark haired beauty on the far side of the crowd, "you never know where life might take you."

Bruce nearly choked despite not having anything to drink.

A loud peal of laughter from directly to their left managed to divert both of their attention from the topic at hand as well as negating the need for Bruce to come up with some kind of a response. If it had been anyone other than Alberto Falcone joined by several other prominent Gotham businessmen he'd have probably wanted to thank them.

The man who'd laughed, a lawyer for one of the city's larger banks and who seemed to be several drinks in clapped the young Falcone on the shoulder amicably. "Oh, come on," he slurred slightly. "You haven't exactly been subtle in your attempts to grab attention. Most people would try to distance themselves from a family name as notorious as yours. Much less the the city that made it that way." He laughed again. "God knows you have the money to stay far, far away from this place."

Alberto chuckled from somewhere almost behind Bruce. "Maybe," he allowed, "but _I _am not most people. I think I owe a certain debt for my family. One that I intend to repay. Besides, there are...other things I'm after as well. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't getting _anything _out of it." He trailed off after that, purposefully leaving it cryptic and baiting the others.

"Alright, I'll bite," replied one of the other men, one who'd remained quiet up until now. "So, what exactly _is _it you're after Falcone?"

"Simply put...Gotham." Bruce could hear the smile in his voice from where he stood.

Something is his mind clicked though. There was something...familiar about all this. A niggling thought akin to deja vu that he quickly filed away for more careful consideration later. For now he had to concentrate.

There was a smattering of chuckles at Alberto's choice of words, but there was also the unmistakable sound of one man snorting softly. "That sounds about right," the voice following it said icily. "I think your father wanted all of Gotham for himself too. Gonna employ some of his methods? A little of that Falcone ruthlessness?"

Alberto didn't miss a beat.

"Oh, nothing untoward, I assure you gentlemen," he said smoothly. "My motivations are entirely above board. The Falcone name already stands for all that is wrong in this city. My father and his father before him saw to that. I merely wish to change that. To reset the record. I want Falcone to stand for something the way the Wayne name does now. I want it to be synonymous with Gotham City the way Wayne and Monroe are. I want a legacy. That legacy. To change the way people see my family and its relationship to this city."

Another scoff. "You realize that the Waynes and Monroes have been at it for generations thought, right? That doesn't exactly happen overnight."

"Then I have some catching up to do, don't I? If it takes time...so be it. I just..."

The clearing of a throat next to him made Bruce jump slightly. Lucius merely smiled. "A little distracted tonight, Mister Wayne?" The playful look in his eyes shifted to glance at Falcone for a second before returning to Bruce. "But I guess I should also be used to you not taking a night off. Should I keep talking or do you need me to stay quiet?"

"No, it's okay. Just...a feeling of deja vu or something." Bruce shook his head. "I don't know. Probably not important. I meant to ask you though, the report's been leaked?"

Fox nodded. "And two regional networks have already picked up on it," he said. "With any luck it'll be on tonight's news. That's not even mentioning the irate posts going around on some of the better known environmental message boards and blogs. I bet protests will start outside the tower in another day or two. It'll be convincing enough until we release the actual documents later this week. Until then, you've got your bait. Now let's just hope you know what you're doing."

"And what exactly did I manage to do this time?"

"Oh," Lucius grinned, "you just approved the destruction of some highly sensitive saltwater marshes north of Sale Point for the construction of a new petrochemical plant. It's all very despicable. Lot's of destroyed habitat and expected soil and water pollution. You're quite the villain."

Bruce grinned. "And the real report?" he asked.

"Says the wetlands will actually become a preserve while the factory site is being relocated east instead to Mount Lansing where it will have little to no impact. By the way, you were also the one to nix the first deal. Congratulations." Lucius winked. "That was very responsible of you."

Bruce's grin widened. "All in a day's work."

"That was the easy part though. There's no telling when or where Isley's gonna show up and..." Mid sentence something grabbed his attention, causing his face to fall as he trailed off momentarily. Bruce immediately turned to follow his gaze.

Pamela Isley was threading her way through the crowded great room near the faceted windows along the northern wall that overlooked the formal gardens outside. The ordinary auburn hair she'd had during their meeting in his office was now a bright, flame red, the wig he'd spent so long tracking down making her stand out amongst the assembled masses as it curled and cascaded down her shoulders and back. Gone too were the glasses and everyday clothing he'd seen her in before, replaced by a shoulderless emerald green dress that almost seemed to make her pale, porcelain skin glow. If it weren't for her eyes she'd have been almost unrecognizable, but the eyes were exactly the same, hard and pitiless and driven.

She was playing the crowd, stopping to chat amicably enough as she made her way around the room. It was probably to establish an alibi...or she could use this to get access to even more targets Bruce realized suddenly. He'd managed to put most of Gotham's most powerful men, and by extension the ones most likely responsible for any ecological missteps all conveniently into one room and ever the predator, she was reaping the benefits to get in close with them.

Shit.

"...and apparently I'm a little _too _effective," Lucius finally finished somberly. He turned to Bruce. "How do you want to handle this? Another drunken spectacle? Get everyone out?"

The billionaire contemplated that for a second before he shook his head. "No. That won't work twice. People will just think I'm doing it for laughs this time." He watched her grin darkly and shake one industrialist's hand before kissing the man gently on the cheek. Based on the fact that he didn't go into convulsions at least she didn't seem to be wearing her special lipstick yet. "Get Alfred," he finally said. "He'll know what to do. Have him get ahold of the police too, but make sure to keep it quiet."

Fox nodded, setting down his drink. "And what're you going to do?"

"We made me bait for a reason. I'm her most likely target." Bruce shrugged. "I'll see if I can't stall."

* * *

><p><em>AN: A couple cameos. The rumors Nigma refers to are, of course, the Batman villains Man Bat and Solomon Grundy. Two of his rogues gallery that have zero business being in a relatively realistic take on Gotham. That said, I wanted to throw stuff like this in as cookies._

_Not an especially action packed chapter, but hey...at least it's long. Now, who wants to know how Poison Ivy's story was supposed to end?  
><em>


	38. Chapter 38

_As seems to be becoming the norm, sorry for the long delay. Work and life have been busy.  
><em>

_Reviews only take a second and make things so worthwhile for us authors. So, take a second and let us know what you think. Insight is always welcome and encouraged and they certainly provide additional incentive to get that next chapter out.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

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><p>The game of cat and mouse between Bruce and Isley lasted the better part of twelve minutes. If someone had been watching the two of them from the second floor balcony overlooking the massive room the sight would have probably been somewhat..comical. He moved between groups, chatting briefly with each gathering of guests before moving on to welcome still more. She seemed to be doing something similar, mirroring him and moving and nodding along with whatever was being said with an empty smile decorating her face.<p>

In a sense, the sharks were circling one another, biding their time.

Ever reliable, Alfred had eventually shown up with an earpiece and a bag of goodies for Bruce to pocket, brushing past him and leaving it all in his palm. The communication device found its way into his ear when he seemed to absently brush at his hair with the remaining items being simply pocketed for later.

Bruce also hoped that Alfred would continue to keep Selina occupied and away from him. She was around here somewhere and he'd inevitably be forced to deal with the murderer and wanted to keep her as far away as possible. Her presence would only complicate matters. Maybe she'd recognize Isley from the bulletins the GCPD were beginning to put out. Worse, maybe she wouldn't and would get in the deadly woman's way.

Strolling nonchalantly between the mingling crowds Bruce took the time to look around.

With this many of the city's upper crust present the police reaction would be cautious at best. They'd be assembling tactical teams rather than coming in with whatever was available nearby, loathe to risk retaliation against Gotham's rich and influential. It meant he needed to buy all the time he could. She'd be in a rush now that her picture was out there circulating. Granted, it was of the much more ordinary looking Pamela rather than the exotic Ivy, but there was still always a chance she could be recognized. That meant slowing her down could prove challenging.

Bruce had briefly entertained the notion of sneaking away and having the Batman make an appearance to subdue Poison Ivy. The study was a short walk down a couple corridors, but despite his infiltration of Gilchrist's, appearing at Wayne Manor could very well raise some uncomfortable questions. For now he'd decided to see how far he could take this thing as Bruce instead of the vigilante. He'd play up the detached, empty headed playboy angle and see how long he could drag things out. For now, he also had the crowd to offer him some protection.

Eventually the game of cat and mouse had to come to an end though. Isley finally headed him off after he'd exchanged pleasantries with Ophelia Monroe and several of her close friends near the string quartet in the corner, practically bumping into him in her haste to attract his attention.

"Oh my gosh," she started, staring at him wide eyed with her hands raised as she backed away. "I am so, so sorry. I must have not been looking where I was going."

Bruce quirked an eyebrow. He wasn't going to play the part she expected. Not completely. Better to play the vacant playboy with some slight twists to keep her off balance.

"Sorry?" he said, cocking his head to the side. "Really? I kind of think you've been following me."

Fear and suspicion flashed through her eyes before she took stock of his casual, lopsided smile. "Guilty as charged," she finally managed. Isley smiled back coldly, an expression that didn't even come close to reaching her eyes. To most the expression would likely have appeared genuine enough given the distraction provided by the attire she was wearing, but to Bruce it was just downright eerie. "What gave me away?"

Bruce shrugged. "You're pretty hard to miss. Even in a crowd. That," he said, pointing to the red hair framing her face, "tends to give you away a bit. Other...attributes," he ran his eyes suggestively up and down her body, "don't exactly help either."

"Oh?" She hid the flare of anger at his blatant objectification well, but not well enough. She was a somewhat talented actress, but there were definitely cracks if one knew where to look. "I suppose I should be flattered to have the great Bruce Wayne taking notice of me. Not everyday you catch the eye of a billionaire. And I'm happy you like what you see." She smiled that same dead smile and held out her hand.

"Bruce Wayne," he answered, "but then again, you already knew that." When he took her hand though he held on after their handshake. Despite her attempt at seduction it didn't take long for her to stiffen awkwardly at the unwanted contact. "Listen," he asked, "do I know you? I mean, you look kinda familiar and I'm usually pretty good with faces. I definitely think I'd remember that hair too, but..."

"_No_. We've never met. That much I can promise," she practically hissed, twisting her hand out of his grip before finally trying to recompose herself. "Just...it must be someone else you're thinking of. I promise you, you've never met _me _before."

He arched an eyebrow "You sure? You sure we've never..." Bruce smirked at her in as suggestive a manner as possible, letting his eyes rake up and down her again. "Well, never...you know? I mean, you really look familiar. I just can't put my finger on it."

Isley rolled her eyes and huffed a bit in annoyance, managing to hide her anger relatively well. It was but seconds before the fake smile was again plastered on her face again . "No," she said with finality. "Completely positive. I'm relatively new in town."

"Oh," Bruce said before he glanced around and leaned in conspiratorially. "So, how'd you manage to score an invitation Miss...? I usually know just about everybody at these things."

For the first time since he'd seen her that evening, Isley looked a bit nervous, looking around for any nearby bodyguards or eavesdroppers. "You can call me Ivy and would you have security remove me if I told you I snuck in?" When he raised a questioning eyebrow she smirked. "What can I say?" Ivy shrugged. "I really wanted to meet the infamous Bruce Wayne."

"Not sure I like the infamous part, but have a beautiful woman escorted out? Really?" He spread his hands out and smiled that roguish, lopsided grin. "Surely you're kidding. I could never bring myself to do that." He bent in close as though he was going to whisper a secret. "I hate to reveal this to you, but you may have stumbled on one of my hidden weaknesses. I've kinda got a thing for beautiful women."

She smiled again. "I'd hardly call that a weakness, Mister Wayne."

Her appearance was likely how she got a lot of the men she'd been killing to lower their guard. The term femme fatale certainly seemed fitting enough in that case. It was probably more than effective, appealing to a man's ego like that. And now he was doing the exact same thing to her, letting her think this was going to be easy so she'd get comfortable and let her guard down. Hopefully that would be enough to catch her off guard. Thus far she hadn't exactly appeared incapable after all.

Bruce laughed. "Tell that to my lawyers," he said. "Do you have any idea how tired they're getting of all the fictional maternity cases and claims of sexual harassment?" Bruce shrugged. "Who knew having a few billion in the bank made you such a target?" He plastered on a vacant smile. "Guess I should be happy I'm so popular though, right?"

Ivy smiled again. "It made me want to meet you, didn't it."

"And I'm more than happy about that fact. Can't deny the notoriety doesn't have its perks." He frowned for a second. "Of course, there are...downsides too."

"Mmmm? Such as?"

"Well," Bruce started, tapping his chin in thought, "I don't suppose you missed out on the stories about me and the limo full of lingerie models, did you?"

The story had been fairly sensational in the gossip pages almost a year and a half ago. Of course, the entire thing had been faked by he and Alfred, choreographed to further cement his reputation as a hard partying, womanizing, carefree, spoiled rich kid. The video of him pretending to be drunk with an armful of actually inebriated, scantily clad women hanging off him while he attempted to purchase Gotham's most upscale Italian bistro so he could order a cheeseburger and milkshake had been genuinely funny and widely circulated. The fact that he'd never had a drink that night and only spent about forty five minutes with the girls rather than the hours they claimed had gone undiscovered.

He did own the restaurant now though.

Ivy cocked her head slightly. "So, it was true then? I kind of wrote that one off as being just a little too fantastic to be factual. Figured it had to be exaggerated."

"Yeah." He scratched his head guiltily, but smirked at the same time. "If anything I think they may have actually undersold it."

Isley's eyes narrowed but the devious smile was still there. She obviously thought she had her hooks in him. "Mister Wayne, are you...are you trying to show off?" she asked.

Bruce shrugged. "Well, I guess that all depends. Is it working?"

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><p>Bruce managed to keep Pamela stalled for another five minutes with minimal distractions before disaster almost struck. She'd insinuated twice in that span that she'd appreciate a guided tour of the new building, even once going so far as to run a hand up his forearm and back invitingly. Conveniently, the ever dense Bruce Wayne he was portraying managed to let the subtle signals go unrecognized. It was only a matter of time though before she started to make her attempts to separate him from the other party goers more overt.<p>

Twenty seconds later she stepped closer to the point the two were almost pressed up against each other.

Unluckily for him, that was about the time a familiar curvy figure separated from the surrounding crowds, the other people seeming to part before her as she made her way inexorably closer to Pamela and Bruce, heading directly towards the two of them.

Selina. _Shit_. And of _course _she didn't look at all happy despite the smile on her face. He managed to take a hasty step back just before she made it to them.

"Hi there," she said, continuing to smile her typical, sly smile. Her eyes, however, were telling a completely different story, firing daggers as her glance alternated not just at him, but at the stunning redhead across from him. Bruce couldn't help it, he awkwardly smiled a little at the sudden uncomfortable air that had suffocated the small group. God help him, he had to keep up the facade of the uncaring womanizer. Unfortunately, it was also a smile that was probably not going to help his case with Selina later on. Assuming there was a later on.

And past all that, did that happen to be...jealousy he saw flashing in her eyes. He certainly couldn't think of anything else that he'd done to bring about a look like that. That didn't leave a whole lot to the imagination then. Was the ever enigmatic Selina Kyle worried about a little outside competition? Not that the redheaded black widow joining them actually was, but she certainly didn't know that. Was the woman who'd all but declared herself uninterested in some kind of formal relationship trying to stake her claim? If not for the fact that she was interrupting his conversation with a remorseless serial killer he'd probably have been touched or tickled or...something. Instead her rather sudden appearance just twisted the knife of nervousness in his gut further.

A moment of awkward silence stretched between the three of them as the woman took each other in, casting occasional curious glances at him as well.

Then, despite any irritation...or perhaps because of it...Selina reached up and softly kissed his cheek. Unsurprisingly Isley's eyes narrowed. "Oh, and who is this?" Selina asked, finally turning towards the redhead and actually acknowledging her presence verbally. "I certainly hope I'm not interrupting anything..." she turned her glare on Bruce, "...interesting."

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but the other woman beat him to the punch. The sickly sweet smile she was wearing would probably have been enough to scare away a prowling lion for all the vehemence it carried. "_Actually_," she started, "we _were_having a private conversation. I'm sorry, but if you don't mind it's actually kind of..."

"Business related," Bruce interjected without thinking, hoping to preserve his standing with Selina somehow.

"...personal," Isley finished at the same time.

He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut rather than face the scalding looks he was sure to be receiving from both directions. Seriously? Of all the things, _this _was what he wasn't prepared for? He could plan and scheme to take on literally dozens of armed targets, but stick him with two competing women, one with literally murderous intent, and he was at a loss. The nervous laugh that slipped out next was completely genuine as silence seemed to descend over the three of them again. The sour looks the two women were currently sending his way were also painfully similar and horribly effective. Crap.

Choosing to ignore the third party Selina decided to address him, directing most of her silent anger in his direction. "So...which one is it then?" she asked, her arms firmly crossed in front of her with a slim champagne glass dangling from the fingertips of her right hand. Unfortunately, Isley beat him to the punch, her stance equally combative.

"Does it matter?" she spat, eyeing her challenger. "Either way _you're_interrupting. Now if you don't mind..."

Selina took a step forward, her arms uncrossing as her eyebrows shot up her forehead and the knuckles whitened a bit around her flute's stem. "Oh?" She laughed, her voice rising in volume. "Oh really? Is that right? Well, I wouldn't want to..."

Figuring he had nothing left to lose Bruce stepped between them, wrapping one arm around Selina and turning her gently away from her quarry. He turned to Isley and sent her a pleading look as he began to move the other woman away. "Look, can you wait right here for a second? I need to talk to Selina for a minute. Won't take long. I promise. Just...umm...hang on."

Without waiting for a response he took Selina's arm gently and continued to lead her a short distance away, just far enough that they wouldn't be overheard. She still wasn't happy looking, but at the very least she let herself be led away rather than storming off or causing some kind of scene. Hopefully that meant she at least wanted to hear him out first before unleashing her quite literal claws. The brief respite though didn't extend to making verbal jabs apparently.

"Must be _some_kind of business transaction," she remarked as soon as they were out of the redhead's earshot, her voice dripping in venomous sarcasm. "She looks like quite the professional. Tell me, does she charge by the hour or by the night?"

"Selina..."

"Oh, no. You don't get to _Selina _me. Don't you even think about telling me I didn't hear what I heard. She looked awfully chummy and you didn't exactly look like you were discouraging it, Bruce." He opened his mouth to respond, with what he wasn't sure, but Selina didn't give him the chance, plowing right along. "And what the hell is with the snooty, rich-boy act? I thought we were past that annoying bullshit. You trying to throw out some bait and see what the trust fund brings running? Cause I don't play that game. And I appreciate being messed with even less."

Bruce put up his hands to stop her, looking as apologetic as ever. "Okay, you're angry. I get it. Look though, can I just explain things for a second? Please? It's not what you think. Let me explain and then you can decide whether or not you want to eviscerate me."

The glare remained, but this time she stayed quiet for a moment. Then her face fell a bit and she downed the contents of her champagne flute. "I know...I know, okay? I get it." she said. "Man surrounded by pretty, willing girls. I get it. Bound to happen." She pushed her hand through her hair like she often did. Her voice may have sounded resigned to her fate, but her expression hadn't changed much from one of extreme displeasure. "I already know what you're gonna say so don't. We're not exclusive and blah, blah, blah. I even said so myself. That was my call. But I mean really Bruce?" She glanced over his shoulder back at the redhead who was still standing by herself. "Her?" The fingers went through her short hair again. "And...hell, why am I even acting like this? _I'm _the one who didn't want labels. God, I'm behaving like some kind of stupid pubescent teenager with a crush, aren't I?"

Bruce allowed a small smile. "I think it's cute."

Unimpressed, Selina glared at him again. Apparently that may have not been the time to say something like that. "Gee, thanks," she managed between still firmly set lips. "Guess what though? You're not getting off that easily. And what was with the whole brainless man whore thing you had going on over there? Mind explaining that?"

Bruce winced. "You were listening that long, huh?" She arched an eyebrow but made no other outward signs of answering. He sighed, his brain already whirring away to construct some new kind of lie that she could buy. Once again, the truth proved far too dangerous and complicated to just blurt out. The story of his life it would seem. "Alright, fine," he said, trying to placate her. He continued to take his time, talking deliberately so his mind had time to work ahead of his mouth. "You remember when I talked about playing the part? Putting on the mask for certain reasons?" She chewed on her lip for a second, her eyes still hard, but eventually nodded. "People like her are simply another one of those reasons. It's just one more stupid reality of my existence."

God he hoped she bought this. He didn't necessarily enjoy lying to her, but what was he supposed to say? She's a serial killer targeting him that he's hoping to stall until the authorities arrive? Right. Because that was more believable. Besides, knowing Selina, if she knew that she'd find a way to stick her nose into things and cause problems. Possibly even get herself hurt.

"Miss Ivy over there happens to be the daughter of one of Wayne Enterprise's largest distributors," he said instead, glancing back at Isley. "This is all just a game to her. It's simple. She likes to flirt. Likes to think that me and her have...something going on. Usually it's just a minor annoyance that I can manage to ignore, but with the contracts coming up for negotiation soon she could really throw a wrench in things with dear old dad if I don't make nice and play along." He glanced back at Isley again, a look that netted nothing but another glare from her. "She's frustratingly temperamental that way."

The coldness in Selina's eyes softened the tiniest bit, but her expression remained grim. "Sounds fun," she said though she plainly didn't mean it. "So, that makes you what then? A corporate whore? Ready, willing, and able anytime it'll increase the bottom line? Tell me, is this yet another side of you that you've been hiding from me? Cause I'm not exactly thrilled with it"

"Um...I don't think you're quite getting it."

Selina crossed her arms again, the glare reappearing. "Then why don't _you_enlighten me?"

"Like I said, it's a game. Just a game. Nothing more. I've never slept with her." When she opened her mouth to say something he reiterated the point. "Never."

"And how exactly do you expect me to believe that? How could you possibly manage that without pissing off the princess over there? She can't be _that _big an idiot." Selina was obviously still wary, but she seemed to be buying at least part of the story. God, it all sounded so ridiculous to him though.

"Let's just say that there are others that know the game just as well as I do." He smiled. "They...lend me a helping hand when I need it."

Selina thought for a moment, studying his face. "Alfred?" she asked.

He nodded. "Amongst others. You know, it's funny how often emergencies pop up with Wayne Enterprises right when Ivy thinks things are about to happen between us." His grin widened. "It's so very, very tragic."

Selina just watched him for a second, gauging things before a slight smile broke through. This time it wasn't fake and this time her eyes weren't hard and unyielding. "You know," she said, the smile turning devious, "if memory serves there happened to be a Wayne Enterprises emergency on _our_first date. I suppose that could have been...convenient. Something you want to tell me, Bruce?"

He just returned the smile and didn't skip a beat, happy that she seemed to be accepting things as a strange reality in the life of a billionaire. "And if I remember correctly there wasn't an emergency popping up the other night. Or the next morning for that matter." His face sobered up, expressing nothing but solemn honesty. "Selina, do you honestly think you're just another part of the charade? Because _you're _not a game. Not to me."

Apparently his answer finally cracked the final remnants of ice because she blushed and smiled coyly up at him, taking a slow step forward and twisting up to whisper in his ear. "Glad to hear it." Then the smile turned predatory, that sexy mischievous glint back in her green eyes. "And if it's just a thing for redheads you know you could have just said something." He met her eyes and she smiled wider. "I'm sure we could arrange for some...alterations later tonight."

Bruce couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine at the suggestive comment. The bright, positively hungry look she was sending him wasn't particularly helpful either. Sadly it wasn't time for that. He needed to stay focused for the time being. There was an opening to be had here between the two of them. One that could manage to leave him in the good graces of Selina while still accomplishing his mission with Isley so long as the true identity of the murderer remained secret.

"Actually," he said, "if anything I've kinda got a thing for dark hair and green eyes. Mostly when they're attached to a specific person. And there will definitely be a later for her. But for now, Selina, can I ask you a favor?"

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><p>It wasn't long afterward that Bruce found himself headed back to the patiently waiting redhead. Thankfully, despite the possibility that her opportunity to get him alone may have eluded her she'd apparently considered him an important enough target to wait. At the very least she seemed to want to see where things lay once he came back from talking to the other attractive woman.<p>

Equally lucky, Selina had agreed to let him continue on with her in relative peace after a little cajoling. She wasn't ecstatic about the prospect of letting him flirt unimpeded with a woman whom she considered a wealthy socialite, but she finally acquiesced once Alfred assured her nothing untoward would happen. He'd promised her that he'd personally see to that. And so things seemed to have worked out somewhat. Or at least as well as could be expected for Selina and him and whatever the burgeoning...thing was they had.

And Christ did his head hurt just trying to get it wrapped around whatever the hell that even meant.

In the end though, her little interruption had even bought him some additional time until the police could finally make their move. That put things at nearly a solid twenty minutes since the call had initially gone out. They'd certainly be here by now, gathering and planning somewhere outside where prying eyes couldn't easily find them. By now they'd also undoubtedly have the blueprints to the manor that had been filed with the City Clerk's office to aid in their planning. It was pretty standard operating procedure in order to understand the terrain and its details.

Of course in this case the blueprints also weren't entirely complete. Not that they'd ever discover that.

Twenty minutes. Hopefully it wouldn't be too much longer now. He couldn't stall things like this indefinitely. Eventually Isley would get nervous and either do something crazy or stupid, lose interest and change her target, or even retreat. Any of those options was unacceptable. It was up to him to keep her concentration firmly on him.

"Well, that was...uncomfortable," she said as he finally walked back up. She glanced past him, over his shoulder where Selina was still comfortably chatting away with his butler. "And who was she? Your girlfriend?"

"Who? Selina?" He glanced back too before facing the redhead again. That was actually a very, very good question. One the two of them would eventually have to actually figure out. Of course, that was assuming there was still a 'they' by the end of the night. There was still a long, long way to go and plenty he could screw up. For Ivy though, a 'yes' probably wasn't what she wanted to hear. So, he went another way. "Uh..." he shrugged, "I guess."

She hadn't expected that. "You guess?"

Her face told the story. She thought her chances to get his attention and then get him alone had vanished along with the arrival of the alluring, dark haired woman and his less than emphatic confirmation of their relationship. He needed to keep her thinking she had him though. Otherwise it meant she might go off in search of other, easier prey. He needed to tread carefully here, but this could also be used to give Isley an easy opening.

The act might not fly with Selina, but at least she could still be made to believe he was the womanizing, dimwitted playboy everyone thought he was. At least he hoped so. Most of his attempts before hadn't been much more than surface decoration. Here he'd really have to sell it.

He shrugged again and smiled shallowly. "Well, she's one of them at least. Although if you ask me it seems like she might want to be the only one." He grimaced. "I'm sorry about that by the way. I already knew she was energetic, but apparently Selina can be the jealous type. It makes for some...entertaining evenings, but there _are _some very obvious downsides."

"_One_of them?" With every word her jaw had dropped slightly lower while her eyebrows climbed subtly in the opposite direction. The blatant look of disgust crossing her features was unmistakable, even her normally well schooled mask cracking before his apparent audacity. Like before though, the sharpness in her eyes shifted back to something unreadable before that too was replaced by the dawning realization that he had in fact provided her with a glaringly large opening. One that lent itself to getting the two of them off somewhere alone. Isley's predatory grin returned full blast then. "And tell me, Mister Wayne," she said, sidling slightly closer, "are all your...admirers as personable as her?"

Bruce laughed, a reaction that almost turned into a choke when he saw Selina edge up behind Pamela and wink at him before sipping from a new champagne glass, her eyebrow cocked wickedly. Wonderful. Apparently after his little explanation she now wanted courtside seats to his performance. Leave it to her to still find a way to distract him and still endanger the both of them at the same time unintentionally. Thankfully he managed to salvage things somewhat and turn it into more of a gurgling chuckle than a choked cough. "Well, it's not really their personalities I'm all that interested in, if you know what I mean?"

Selina arched an eyebrow, but this time a slight quirk at the corner of her lip let him know it wasn't about to get him in trouble.

"I see." The wicked smile stayed in place, her dark eyes seeming to grow even deeper as she contemplated the direction things were going. She'd definitely seen the opening widen. Not that he was making it difficult. "And are you always accepting applications or is there a...screening process? You know, on the lookout for more? Perhaps a...redhead to add to the collection?"

Bruce cocked his head, looking at her out of the corner of his eye as he smiled. Eventually he shrugged. "Like I said, beautiful women _are _a weakness," he said, before he leaned in close and dropped his voice low. "I _do _generally like to see some qualifications first of course. Maybe even get a sample of the...ah...goods. I mean, one must make an educated decision, right? Can't afford to be too hasty."

Isley smiled, playing along while behind her Selina rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "Oh, I think it's only natural," the redhead answered. She inclined her head to look him over. "It's easy to tell you're the type of man to have only the most...particular of tastes. Still, I think I might surprise you if given the chance." Isley leaned in to whisper in Bruce's ear. The action darkened the look Selina was throwing him. "I promise I can give you something I _guarantee_you've never experienced before."

The double meaning was impossible to miss given what he knew about the woman. Still...wow...she hadn't wasted any time in pursuing this angle. Even he hadn't expected her to jump so completely at the chance he'd presented her, rather expecting more of a flirty back and forth as she tried to get him to lower his defenses rather than the full on seduction she was going for. Granted, he'd been helping lead her along in that direction, but he'd actually been attempting to cool her off a bit by being outright disgusting. He figured appearing as a male chauvinist might trip her up at least a little. Apparently his aim had been more than a little...off. She was nothing if not motivated to get him alone.

And now he was stuck in a bit of a corner. Backtrack now and she might get suspicious, but continue moving forward and she was going to start expecting things pretty quickly and again get suspicious if he wasn't trying to get the two of them alone. Thankfully, he still had an ace up his sleeve.

"Really?" he managed, his eyebrows arching high up his forehead. "How very interesting. So, I take it that means you're looking to fill out an application? Because I might be tempted to extend the offer."

"Mmmmm." She smiled and ran a hand up and down his arm. Bruce thought he could almost make out a low growl from off in Selina's direction but chose to ignore it. "So, what say we find someplace a little more...secluded so we can discuss the details and so I can give you a bit of a...demonstration. We don't have to be gone long and I'm sure..."

"Ahem."

Unbeknownst to everyone but Bruce, the earpiece had allowed Alfred to listen in to every last word spoken during the exchange. Ever on his toes, the ever steady butler knew precisely when his presence was needed, interrupting the pair before anything further could happen just as Ivy seemed ready to lead him away by the arm.

"Master Wayne?" he asked, smiling politely, once their attention had turned his way. "I am ever so sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid there are several small issues that require your immediate attention." Bruce nodded absently, causing the eager, anticipatory gleam to vanish from Ivy's face only to be replaced by one of frustration. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Selina subtly hiding a laugh behind one of her hands. "A Missus Gleason has requested the updated menu for tonight's event and the caterer is requesting he be allowed to open several more cases of the champagne. Apparently our guests are enjoying themselves a bit more than originally anticipated."

"Right. Um...Okay. Well, I think a Mister...Jenner has a copy of the new menu. He's..." Bruce craned his neck, looking for a man that didn't exist. "...well, he _was _right here. Try him or, if you can't find him, try Missus Richards. She's the...uh...well, she's the large one in the bright green. Hard to miss. And as for the champagne..." he turned toward a slightly bewildered Isley. "Open...what...six, maybe? What do you think? Six cases?" She just stared at him for a second before nodding dumbly. "Great," he said. "Let's make it six cases, Alfred. And can I maybe get a chilled bottle of the Bollinger while you're at it?"

"At once." The dutiful butler nodded once and bowed slightly before departing.

"Now then," Bruce said, smiling back down at the redhead beside him. "Where were we?"

Her predatory grin returned. "Hopefully you were just about to..."

"Excuse me, Mister Wayne?"

And so the next ten minutes progressed, made up of a steady stream of guests and employees coming up to them to make simple requests or posing innocent enough questions and all carefully and unknowingly choreographed by the always clever Alfred Pennyworth. The older man himself made two more appearances, once with the requested bottle of champagne and several more inane party questions and the second time bearing a check to be signed as well as several forms that needed the billionaire's immediate endorsement. Even Lucius Fox managed to get into the act, heading the pair off near the string quartet as they attempted to circumnavigate the room to ask about some of the latest points of contention in the Gilchrist acquisition all the while wearing a knowing smirk. The entire time Isley silently fumed nearby, but stayed doggedly close, attempting to steer him away during each and every lull.

And she repeatedly failed spectacularly.

Somewhere Bruce was sure Selina was laughing hysterically at the whole farce played on the woman.

It was almost forty minutes after he and Fox had first seen Poison Ivy enter the gala when he finally received the word from his butler over the radio waves that the police were finally in some semblance of position to act. From halfway across the manor's great room he caught the older man's eye and nodded slightly, tipping his head in the direction of the study while some neophyte looking for a campaign contribution rattled on in front of him. That was all the hint Alfred needed. He immediately left to call whoever was in command outside. Knowing his hands on approach and considering the gathering of important citizens and the situation's disastrous potential that probably meant Gordon.

The study would serve three purposes really. It would give Isley the seclusion she was seeking at the same time that it removed her from the crowds and provided the GCPD with a more easily cornered, convenient target. A target that would be far less dangerous or apt to inadvertently kill a city's worth of debutantes when she was separated from all of them. Last, but not least, it also put him in close proximity to the entrance to the cave and either a quick escape or a quick change should things not proceed as planned. If it came to that though he'd definitely have to be beyond subtle in getting away unseen. The alternative would prove disastrous.

Of course all it took to ruin the carefully constructed plans of both Bruce and the Gotham City Police Department was one overzealous cop doing something stupid. Not even stupid really, simply...ill advised.

It was before they'd even left the great room, halfway to exiting the stone archway into the adjacent hallway when the man had become obvious to Bruce. Trailing them in a glaringly obvious manner, his eyes flicking repeatedly toward the two of them while he occasionally reached up to touch the earpiece undoubtedly in his ear as he listened to radio chatter. To Bruce, the man was completely and painfully oblivious to his own lack of discretion. He pushed past them in the crowd to their left at one point, going so far as to roughly brush past the elderly wife of a prominent Gotham banker and making a small scene as he made for the exit ahead of them. Thankfully Isley seemed to remain calm and ignorant of what now lurked around them, attempting to prattle on about music in a way that made her seem flighty rather than the doctoral candidate he knew her to be.

The image of her being ignorant was shattered completely once they moved through the wide transition space between the party and the outside corridor, passing the final throng of party goers before the hallway and the single, bumbling plainclothes officer trying to disguise himself amongst them. He was pretending to be listening in to a conversation when she struck, forced close due to his positioning right at the archway. It wasn't much, certainly nothing Bruce was ready for or expecting, especially given her seeming obliviousness to the man, but she raised a small, antique crystal perfume bottle and sprayed its contents in the officer's face having never broken stride.

The detective, Cottrell, Bruce now saw coughed once as he batted at the vaporized liquid before going down mere seconds later in a choking, gagging fit as the capillaries in his face began rupturing beneath the skin. One of the guests, an elderly woman in a modest dark gray dress that was standing behind him went down as well.

Her friend was the first one to scream.

By the time her piercing shout echoed through the cavernous space, causing the entire crowd to momentarily pause in a strange, hushed, questioning silence Bruce and Isley were already through into the empty corridor leading toward the eastern portions of the home. From the ballroom, more shouts and screams could be heard, rising in volume.

Bruce reacted accordingly, stopping in his tracks and glancing back the way he and Ivy had come curiously. Apparently, his hesitance was something she was no longer having any part of as she gripped his arm more firmly and tugged.

"What?" he asked absently. "There's something going on. I should..."

From behind he felt her grip his arm in one hand, squeezing tightly, her fingernails digging into his exposed wrist. Staying in character, the act prompted him to turn partially back to face her. The small bottle in her other hand rose slightly in warning. "No," she said, shaking her head once. She inclined it slightly, nodding in the opposite direction of the party. "Let's go."

"But..."

Her grip tightened on his arm, the perfume rising closer to his face. "_No_," she managed between gnashed teeth. "I did _not _go through all this tonight to walk away empty handed. You're coming with me. Now move."

From his position he could still see a sliver of the great room and some of the people inside. Already he could see the pushing, moving figures of several disguised officers fighting their way through the crowd towards where the pair had been as the masses stood hesitantly by trying to figure out what to do. Doubtless the black clad tactical teams that would soon be entering through every available exit would spur them all into panicked action and plunge the entire fiasco further into disorder.

"Don't get any ideas," she hissed in his ear, letting any remaining traces of the seductress fall away as she watched him eye the other room and a possible escape. Roughly she pushed him further down the hall and further away, an act that would normally have resulted in a broken arm for her followed by a loss of consciousness, but with her little concoction still out and ready to go he couldn't take the risk. Even as an involuntary reflex on her part a small blast could be deadly. Isley took note of where his eyes were looking though and smirked. "My own little mixture," she said darkly, brandishing the small perfume bottle before him. "A bit of Amazonian tree frog sweat, a touch of South Sea Conch venom, and some other various herbs and rare flora I've managed to procure over the years. Trust me when I say you'll be dead before you realize you've inhaled it. Just stay with me and play the part of the obedient little hostage and things might actually work out well for you. Now I'm only going to say this once more. _Move_."

Bruce distinctly doubted she had anything but deadly intentions towards him, but for the time being he had no play past keeping everyone else as alive as possible. Best to seem defenseless. Given the right act she may even lower her guard if she thought he was cowed enough. One way or another though she had no intention to leave him breathing at the end of the night.

"Who the hell are you?" he managed to stammer out, opening his eyes wide at her as she latched on his arm, pulling him down towards the study and library. "What do you want? Money? I have money. I can get you money. Plenty of it."

She just eyed him with disgust and kept moving.

Bruce kept his eyes wide and his voice pitched and nervous. "Diamonds? Something else? Come on, there's gotta be something. You know who I am. Know what I can..."

"You really are _that _dense, aren't you?" she replied, eyeing him disdainfully again. "And no, it's not money I'm after. Not from the likes of you. Rather it's the way you've gone about earning your money that's brought me here tonight. You've done a great deal of evil to put yourself where you are and hurt a _lot _of innocents along the way. I'm here to see that justice is done." They were nearing the end of the corridor now, having already passed the doors to the restroom and back entry into the spacious kitchen and approaching the large double doors to his study on the left. "Who am I, Mister Wayne?" she asked. "I'm your judge and tonight...well, tonight you make restitution."

"Justice?" Bruce's eyebrows screwed together in confusion and fear. "Restitution? For what? What the hell do you think it is I did?"

"Oh, this is for everything. For every blade of grass, every limb of every tree, every defenseless organism you've obliterated. This is for all of those gifts the Earth sought to give us which you saw fit to destroy. You're answering for every last one of them. I'm going to make damn sure of that."

"Jesus." Both their heads snapped to the side at the voice. Bruce had heard Bullock coming seconds before he rounded the corner branching off across from the study's entrance, but staying in character meant being startled. "Crazy really had a field day with you, didn't it lady?" he said, his service weapon aimed unflinchingly at the two of them. Isley slid slightly more behind Bruce as a four man tactical team stepped into view behind the detective. "What say you drop the...the...well, that and we can introduce you to the nice little padded cell we've got waiting? I heard its got cable."

Ivy's eyes narrowed. "So, you think you can save the billionaire?"

Bullock shrugged as Montoya and another team approached cautiously from the direction of the party to the side. "Wayne?" he asked. "Shit no, I couldn't give a rat's ass about the little fruit." He nodded at Bruce. "No offense, man. I just want as little paperwork after this shindig is over as possible. There's a game on tonight."

For a second neither side said anything or moved, just watching the other and waiting for the next move to be made. Isley was the one to finally grow impatient and continue on, her eyes constantly flickering back and forth over the arrayed police and their weapons.

"Tell me, do you _really _expect me to simply let him go? After all I've managed to accomplish do you think I'll be dissuaded so easily?"

The detective didn't even look angry or driven, instead appearing almost bored when he responded. "Lady, again, I don't care. I really don't. Way I see it is you've got a couple options, all of which result in either your death or incarceration. Which conclusion we get at the end of this is entirely up to you. I'm just asking you to pick the quickest one. Tipoff's at eight."

Isley just watched him for a minute, the two engaging in yet another staring contest. "There's actually another option you're unaware of," she finally said. "One far more...conducive to my well being than anything you've offered." Far from looking nervous or afraid despite being all but surrounded by men sworn to bring her to justice Isley just smiled. "Now, you're going to let the two of us go..."

"Not happening, psycho," Bullock growled from behind the barrel of his semi automatic.

"...or I kill everyone in the building, including you." She let go of Bruce's arm to produce something else out of the small clutch she'd been carrying under her arm and smiled. "Tell me Officer, still think you're going to catch tonight's ballgame?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: For those who wanted to know about Isley's original storyline but didn't get a response, it's because you didn't leave a registered review (i.e. you weren't signed in when you reviewed the story). Thus, there is no link for me to respond to you. If you want to leave me another, registered review I'd still be happy to tell you the original plans._

_I had some trouble with some of the interactions this chapter and it really slowed me down. Hopefully they came out well though. I'm especially proud of Bullock at the end.  
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	39. Chapter 39

_An update in honor of the release of the final chapter in Nolan's Batman trilogy. Absolutely can't wait. Who's seeing it opening day?  
><em>

_Reviews only take a second and make things so worthwhile for us authors. So, take a second and let us know what you think. Insight is always welcome and encouraged and they certainly provide additional incentive to get that next chapter out.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

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><p>"So, let me get this straight," Bullock asked, glancing quickly over at his equally confused looking partner while he tilted his head. "You say you're gonna kill us...all of us...with a measly little flare gun?" Bruce watched as he glanced over at Montoya again. She simply shrugged in response. "Did I miss something or is the crazy plant lady expecting me to take this seriously?" If it weren't for both hands steadily gripping his firearm Bruce would have pictured him pushing the brim back on his hat like he did whenever he was confused or annoyed.<p>

Isley didn't keep any of them waiting as she gestured toward the ceiling. "Oh it's not the flare that will do the killing, simpleton. That's merely the catalyst. No, there's something much more elegant at work than that."

They all looked up for a split second before the police officers focused back on their aim. Bruce's eyes though stayed where they were, settling on a small node that broke up the ornate molding along the roof above them where he knew a small mechanical spigot lay. "The sprinkler system," he whispered aloud.

Both Bullock and Ivy stared at him for a second, one questioningly and one in genuine surprise. "He's correct actually," she conceded a second later, still looking at him. Bullock was still left obviously confused though, his brow scrunched in thought. Again, she wouldn't leave him hanging for long. "For the cretins I'll explain with little words. I suppose it's only fair. You see, before I arrived at this...thing...I took the liberty of introducing something into the building's emergency water supply. Something of an...insurance policy, as it were...against any disruption to my plans. It's a fungus...microscopic, generally benign, and utterly unique. While this particular organism's normal lifecycle involves it entering into a symbiotic relationship within the cambium with one of several species of deciduous, hardwood trees I've got...different plans for it this evening. With humans and most other fauna it forms a much less...symbiotic bond." Isley smiled wickedly. "We really don't tend to react very well to it at all. Its spores cause a reaction through both physical contact or inhalation and the results are eventually...well...messy. Hives, topical bleeding, internal bleeding, seizures...the list is quite lengthy and I won't get into all of it, but I believe you get the general gist." Her lips parted in a smirk. "There's really nothing you can do. Well, besides stay out of my way."

The sprinkler system had been one of the new additions to Wayne Manor during the rebuild. After the building had burned down a fire suppression system, expensively hidden in the woodwork and molding, had seemed like a good idea. The system was separate from the drinking water though, which meant everyone was safe so long as Isley didn't fire her flare. That left the foam reservoir tank as the only explanation for where she gained access then. It was a flush tank. The water entered it, mixed with the soapy suppression solution, and traveled onward to be delivered once the alarm was activated.

Luckily for them all there was also a bypass.

Far behind Montoya, at the far end of the hallway past the ballroom and sitting rooms he saw Alfred cross the hall, nodding once in his direction before he passed out of view. The only things of note further in that direction was the giant garage, some storage rooms, and the equipment and utility enclosures. From there he could close the valves leading from the reservoir tank to the sprinkler lines and trap out Isley's little surprise.

"Your tree...uh...stuff will kill you too, you know," Montoya managed, her gun dipping ever so slightly.

Ivy nodded. "Along with every powerful person that has managed to wrong the natural order in Gotham." She smiled. "A worthy price. One I would gladly pay."

"Harvey?"

"She's bluffing," he said, though his aim wavered the slightest bit. "This isn't even remotely believable, right? I mean, shit. Bacteria?"

The other detective just shrugged, looking appropriately bewildered. "Shit, Harv. Your guess is as good as mine. I wasn't exactly at the head of my class."

"I assure you both, I'm deadly serious. Ask your man back there in the ballroom." Bullock growled at that, thrusting his handgun out further impotently and clenching his jaw. "I am in control," she stated defiantly in the face of over a half dozen gun barrels. "Now, lower your weapons." Bullock and Montoya glanced at one another. "_Now_," she said, raising the small, odd orange weapon to point at the ceiling. The two detectives stood their ground.

"Weapons down," came a familiar voice. Gordon came trotting down the corridor flanked by several black clad men, his own pistol drawn, but pointed non-threateningly at the ground. He slowed down as he approached the stand-off, but didn't stop moving forward. Bullock and Montoya managed another glance at each other before their barrels slowly lowered. The Commissioner came to stop next to the burly Lieutenant, a handheld radio in one hand, his sidearm in the other. He'd obviously been listening in to the entire thing. "Alright, Isley," he said, his eyes scanning the situation. "Now, explain to me what's going on and what you want?"

"What's going on is that he and I," she said, nodding toward Bruce, "are getting out of here. And you're going to let us go. Quietly."

Gordon shook his head. "You know I can't do that."

His defiance only made Ivy's smile broaden. "And yet, in the end, you will. I will escort Mister Wayne unimpeded..."

"Not happening," Gordon reiterated. "That's not how this ends."

"What you fail to grasp is that you don't get to determine how this ends. I am in control and you _will _do as I say. Am I understood?"

He watched her for almost thirty seconds, thinking quietly before speaking again. At one point Bullock leaned over only to have a hand raised quickly in front of him, cutting him off. "Hypothetically, what guarantees do I have for Mister Wayne's safety?"

Ivy chuckled darkly. "None whatsoever. But, it's the lives of all those others back there that you should be more concerned with. You have the ability to save a lot of people here tonight, Commissioner. You can be a hero. I'd advise you to take it and move on. Mister Wayne's well-being can be dealt with later."

Bullock finally holstered his weapon and approached the Commissioner, leaning in with his back to Bruce and Ivy to whisper something to his boss. Gordon glanced sidelong at him and watched the Lieutenant silently before finally, dejectedly nodding his head at the man.

"Agreed?"

"That's not the way I do things," he murmured. "I don't trade lives away."

"Then I suppose tonight will be be a first for you, won't it? Now, are we agreed?" Gordon just remained silent, glaring at her, but he didn't continue denying her either. Bruce couldn't blame him. Right now, he was most definitely stuck. "Good," Ivy said at his silence. "You." She pointed at Bullock. "Your handcuffs. Give them to Wayne."

Bullock balked, but a cockily raised eyebrow from the redhead got him moving, eliciting one of his trademark growls alongside a few choice words as he handed the steel shackles to Bruce.

"I'm sure you can guess where this is going. Your hands secured behind your back. Now." With their attention focused on her no one noticed Bruce transfer a small item from his right front pocket to his pant's rear one as he moved to secure his hands. Satisfied that she was still in control, Isley nodded. "Alright," she whispered in his ear. "Now, garage. Which way?"

Bruce nodded off in the direction he'd seen Alfred only a minute or two earlier. The sprawling, spacious subterranean garage was at its far end, just around a slight jog to the right. "End of the hallway," he whispered back. "Around the corner."

She smirked in the direction of the impotent police officers. "Well. It looks like it's finally about time for us to be going. So, if you don't mind..."

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><p>So, that was <em>definitely <em>not some spoiled socialite that had been holding Bruce captive and the police at bay. God knows what the man was into or what he was trying to hide from her, but Selina would be damned if she let another woman kill him before she got an answer. Of course, if the answer wasn't adequate maybe she'd let the mystery redhead finish the job. Hell, maybe she'd do it herself.

Although if she was really being honest she'd probably just save the idiot from whatever trouble he'd managed to get himself into. The moron had somehow wormed his way in. Crap.

It'd been kind of funny for awhile, listening in to their conversation. That it had momentarily thrown Bruce for a loop was equally satisfying. Selina hadn't followed when the redhead escorted him off though, content to watch the train of interruptions and diversions ruin the woman's fun from where she was. It had meant she'd been too far away to see what happened with the older woman who'd gone down and never gotten back up. There may have been a man too, but she couldn't be certain. The scream alerted the rest of the party that something was going on at the same time as Selina realized Bruce was gone. She began pushing through the crowd at the same time as several other men did too, their ill fitting, cheap suits marking them as outsiders almost as well as the white wire she could see coming from their ear and extending down under their collars.

Earpieces? Police? She pulled up to watch the figures struggle through the crowds, trying their best to remain somewhat low key, but very obviously pushing for the passage leading toward the back of the mansion. Only one or two stopped at the two individuals lying on the ground. What the hell? Was Bruce in some kind of legal trouble? They obviously weren't here for her so that left...what exactly?

It wasn't until a couple minutes later that she had any kind of answers. Selina had found a convenient place to watch events unfold. One which afforded her a good view of the room and corridor beyond as well as easy access to two means of escape, three if jumping through a plate glass window was considered an option. God, she hoped it wasn't. Standing around and watching was...difficult. Although she was curious by nature and a risk taker by profession she wasn't about to take on the Gotham police force in an evening dress and heels for a man that wasn't technically even her boyfriend. Besides, Bruce probably had an army of lawyers on stand-by that could protect him better than anything she'd come up with.

Or something.

What she hadn't been expecting was to see the young billionaire reappear as a hostage and human shield and flanked by black clad troops and Commissioner Gordon. What was even more curious was that the remarkably un-panicked woman seemed to be controlling the situation not with the strange orange firearm in her left hand, but a small...bottle?

Only in Gotham City. That little scene certainly had her, along with most of the rest of the remaining guests, staring in bewilderment. And it still somehow managed to pose more questions than it answered. At least Bruce didn't seem to be in trouble with the law. Maybe. There was definitely trouble, but she seemed to be the focus of it, not Bruce. Seriously then...what the hell?

The brief, unexpected moment of eye contact between her and Bruce snapped Selina out of her open mouthed stupor. Just as quickly she spun on her heel and began quickly threading her way back towards the mansion's entrance and the massive main staircase. Hopefully the master bedroom wasn't hard to find because she needed to find her bag.

* * *

><p>Things were <em>not <em>going to plan. Just once in the past year, just once since he took over the MCU would he like something to go off without a goddamn hitch. Going smoothly would have been fun...a nice change of pace. Instead he had a strikingly beautiful woman threatening the most powerful man in the city with freaking scented water and the large crowd gathered behind him with something you couldn't even see with the naked eye. Seriously, you couldn't make this shit up if you tried. Bullock was also pretty sure none of them were really equipped to handle situations like this. This wasn't exactly covered at the academy. Hell, he doubted even the feds would know what to do with this shit.

The stalemate was pretty much obvious at this point. She had Wayne and he and Gordon had a whole lotta cops, guns, and blocked exits. Granted, that didn't mean she was willing to give up control of the situation, but at least Bullock felt a modicum of power here. She might be thinking she was getting out of this, but as far as he was concerned this resolved itself in one of three ways. She was either gonna give up, try and kill everyone, or get a bullet through her noggin the second she stepped foot outdoors if not sooner. It was that simple. Of course they hadn't expected her to head for the large, sprawling garage complex attached to the mansion. Escape usually didn't go hand in hand with going underground, but at least that was one step closer to the outside air. The Commissioner had already re-positioned a pair of sharpshooters to cover the large retractable doors where it emerged in preparation. Car or no car, he woman was going down.

Despite Wayne's importance to a whole helluva lot of people, the primary goal was still to get her outside or at the very least, away from the fire sprinkler system so that she had no leverage outside of Wayne. It was simple numbers, one potential fatality trumped dozens and dozens. Not that they'd actually admit that to her of course.

Bullock had already ordered several of the units outside to quietly begin funneling people out the manor's side entrances. At the very least, if the wacko went homicidal he could minimize the body count a bit. If he'd tried to get everyone out at once she'd probably have gone ahead and taken that leap off the deep end as soon as she caught wind of it. If what she said was true, at least he'd die too rather than be left answering all the questions that were sure to be thrown around afterward should this thing go belly up. Some silver lining that was proving to be.

By now everyone in the place knew something was going on. Two people were on the ground being worked on by medical personnel and likely dead. That was pretty common knowledge at this point. What had surprised them was Bruce and Isley and their small entourage of black clad tactical officers and GCPD detectives making their way back down the hall within sight of most of them. True to human nature almost all of them stood their ground and gawked, loathe to miss even a few moments of the spectacle. Harvey should probably have been grateful they all didn't simply run out in terror. Had that happened, Ivy would have been in a corner.

Not a great place to put a crazy lady.

The moment they turned the corner in the hallway, now back out of sight of the gathered masses, things almost went completely sideways. Isley was backing away from them with Wayne between herself and the silently following police and only casting occasional glances over her shoulder. It was probably for that reason alongside the bend in the corridor that they ran headlong into an older, well dressed man coming from the opposite direction.

When that happened, Bullock all but closed his eyes, readying himself for a sudden spray of water from overhead and an eventual death. Luckily for them all the older man was deceptively quick on his feet, sidestepping an almost certain collision while offering an, "Oh, pardon me, ma'am," in a proper British accent. Isley merely glared at the intruder, making sure to keep the billionaire between her and the armed police. The Englishman's eyes jumped to the police officers and the myriad weapons they had trained on the redheaded woman next. "My word," he managed.

"Stay," she hissed at him and began moving again, the frightened billionaire shuffling along dutifully..

Bullock grabbed the confused man as soon as he was within reach, pulling him past the tactical units and into safety. "And you would be?" he growled.

"Merely the hired help, sir."

"Fine. Get back in there with the others." He shoved the man in the direction of the great room and began to turn back to the problem at hand. The butler nodded slightly in response, but oddly his eyes weren't looking at Bullock at all. Rather, they seemed to be directed past him toward Isley or...Wayne?

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><p>It took Bruce a second to understand Isley's reasoning behind heading for the garage. Granted, the place was packed with fast cars and motorcycles, but was she really just going to assume she could get away that easily? Nothing in there was outrunning a helicopter. The only things that could do that were far, far below them. So, there had to be something else then. She was far too sure of herself, far too smug for this to be a desperation move. The Commissioner had been attempting to talk her down, to reason with her, the entire walk down the corridor. And the entire time she'd done nothing to even acknowledge him. No demands. No attempts to negotiate. To Bruce it all meant one thing. Isley had a plan.<p>

But why the garage besides the obvious presence of cars?

The presence of the flare gun against his side as she directed him finally did the trick. The sprinklers. The garage was on a different system. It featured a chemical retardant setup designed to put out a fire while also preserving electronics and delicate materials. It was the same exact system he'd implemented in the cave as well. Up here though it was chiefly because of the collection of expensive, rare, or vintage vehicles and equipment found within rather than the super computers and servers he was protecting down below. The alternate system made the garage and the cave the two places that would be completely safe from Isley's bacterial attack. In here _she _would be safe.

Bruce kept his features carefully schooled. Alerting anyone was out of the question. Her plan wasn't to martyr herself, but that didn't mean she wouldn't do it if pressed. One thing was pretty certain though, she was going to launch the attack anyway. It wasn't just some kind of threat, not just a deterrent. That _was _her escape plan.

Bruce was entertaining his options to stop her with his hands cuffed behind his back when Alfred made his rather abrupt appearance. Although he was already taking his butler's presence in the hall as a good sign it wasn't until the older man nodded subtly after being questioned by Bullock that Bruce could breathe easily. The job was done, the surge tank was bypassed and Ivy's bacteria was no longer a threat. Hell, dump a bunch of chlorine in there and it would probably all have been eradicated by now. At least that meant the majority of the partygoers were safe. Too bad he couldn't tell the GCPD that.

It also meant he needed to start concentrating more on his own well being now. It might actually be up to him to get out of this if Gordon and his men really thought she'd attacked the hundreds probably still milling around in the ballroom. Shit. She may actually escape after all.

The garage was empty save for the gleaming metal and glass of over three dozen perfectly maintained cars and motorcycles, the only sign of life the shining overhead neon lights that came flickering on once their movement was detected.

"That one," Isley whispered, nodding to indicate a particularly fast Lamborghini near the wide doors to the house. "The white one. Head over there."

Five yards from the vehicle Gordon seemed to finally have had enough, raising his hands in defiance and motioning for his men to spread out. "Alright, I've had just about enough of this," he said, his fingers tapping at the holstered grip of his semi automatic while the other one was extended toward her, trying to placate her. "If you have demands, make them. I'll see what I can do for you, but you're not leaving here. Not with him. That much I can promise."

She eyed the Commissioner for a minute before pushing Bruce roughly against the driver's door of the car. "Really? Promise?" The two watched each other for a few more moments before Ivy spoke again. "I'm going to assume you've forgotten the part about me killing everyone. You're not an evil man, Commissioner. You're not going to let them all die."

"Lady, you're lucky you've made it this far without us..."

Gordon held up a hand, silencing Bullock. "Even _if _your threat about the fire sprinklers is legitimate..."

Ivy flaunted the flare gun, displaying it for the group to see. "Oh, I assure you, it's quite real. As is my willingness to use it. You need only push me to find out."

The Commissioner glared at her. "Again, even _if _it's legitimate and not some creative bluffing, you can't have just assumed we'd let you waltz out of here with a hostage and disappear into the night. Now, you're obviously not stupid and I get the feeling you know how this works. Just because you're willing to use that doesn't mean you _want _to die. We can work something out. Something that benefits everyone and that ensures nobody has to die tonight."

Isley's face hardened, the anger Bruce knew was in there simmering under the surface. "Can you promise me that not another acre of rainforest is deforested?" she asked. "Huh? And how about natural habitat? Can we negotiate for that?" Gordon simply stared at her in slight confusion, unsure if she was actually serious or playing another game with them. When he finally opened his mouth to respond though Isley put her hand up to stop him. "Fine," she finally said. "We'll play it your way. For starters, I want the helicopter gone. Once that happens you'll get concessions from me. Is that the game you were hoping to play?"

Bruce stiffened slightly. There it was. She knew the cops' biggest advantage in preventing her escape and was trying to neutralize it. Now he could only hope that Gordon's desire to keep his biggest advantage would be greater than his need for whatever she offered him next.

Gordon shook his head. "Can't do that. It stays."

Isley's eyes narrowed and she cocked her head. "Okay. How about you get rid of the chopper and you get the flare gun? Then you only have Wayne here to worry about. A chopper for a couple hundred lives."

It was a lie, but Bruce watched the eyes of both Montoya and Bullock flicker toward their boss. What none of them knew for certain was that she had no intention of giving it up. Worse, on the outside it actually seemed like a good deal. Get a concession from her and save a lot of lives in the process. _And_she was still trapped in a building surrounded by police with only one hostage left to negotiate with. So long as Gordon was willing to live without his helicopter it was a win-win deal. She'd made the play for the one thing that might trump the helicopter's presence.

"Why should I trust you?"

The redhead merely shrugged and continued smirking.

"And you'll put the flare gun down if I call away the chopper? That's the deal?" She nodded confidently and smiled as innocently as possible for someone that seemed willing to murder hundreds. Gordon looked to Bullock for a second, took a deep breath, and finally nodded. The Lieutenant immediately held up his handheld radio and began giving instructions. Within thirty seconds the heavy beating sound overhead, muted somewhat by their present location, could be heard diminishing. Within another fifteen seconds the sound was gone completely. "It's gone," Gordon asked, holding out his hand. "The flare?"

Isley's eyes went up towards the ceiling, the small, knowing smile she'd been wearing widening into something far more wicked. "Interesting fact about this room," she said. "It's actually missing a certain little...something the others weren't."

Everyone's eyes save Bruce's followed hers. Montoya was the first one to say anything, whispering, "No sprinklers," quietly into her partner's ear. Bullock's eyes widened immediately and he glanced back at the still open doors through which they'd come. Gordon's head and eyes followed his a split second later.

"Oh, shit," he managed. Isley's smile widened further. "The _door_," he screamed to anyone listening. "Get the goddamn doors closed! Fucking _move_!"

With their aim still blocked mostly by Bruce and the car the two were behind almost all of the cops charged for the doors, two even dropping their weapons in their haste to get back across the floor. Only Gordon and Bullock were left to stare as Ivy raised her left arm, sighted briefly down the short barrel, and pulled the trigger. There wasn't much more than a loud thump that echoed a bit off the bare concrete wall and a small puff of white smoke, but the flare arched brilliantly across the space, easily bisecting the garage's entry and entering the residence.

The bright explosion of hot, reddish light from inside the corridor was obvious, as was the shrill, piercing cry of alarms that went off seconds later. Despite the danger, Montoya and several of the men went plunging in anyway, disappearing from view as Bruce was being physically pushed into the Lamborghini and across into the passenger seat. By the time the two remaining police officers crossed the floor and made it to the car it was already roaring to life and accelerating towards the garage's exit, their shouts falling on deaf ears.

When and where Isley had gotten the keys Bruce had no idea.

* * *

><p>Either the cops were going to handle this or not. She couldn't interfere with that. Not without putting herself right into their line of fire. What she <em>could <em>do though was be ready in case the red-headed lunatic was actually somehow successful in getting away. The cops wouldn't simply let Bruce die. Not here. Ivy...or whatever the woman's name was...needed him to get away. God help the idiotic billionaire though if that happened.

And they were in the garage. That meant cars. That also meant that crazy bitch had at least a modicum of desire to get the hell out of there alive. And who could tell...based on the ways things had been going, maybe she'd even be successful. Despite what others may have felt, Selina hadn't exactly been blown away by the skill level of the GCPD. A city didn't generally get _this _bad with a lot of capable cops after all.

That meant Selina was going to need some wheels too. Some very fast wheels. And the garage was obviously out. God she hoped there was something other than limos and luxury town cars out at the valet. She really didn't want to try and keep up with Bruce's toys in one of those behemoths.

Selina snaked her way down, dropping from the rooftop to the balcony and then to a copper drain pipe that ran down a seam in the weathered brick, weaving her way through the shadows along the front of Wayne Manor.

Even on her worst day stealing a car would be almost child's play for her. She'd found early on though that the people one wound up dealing with in order to make money out of it were generally...less than scrupulous. It was one of the reasons...besides the challenge of it...that she'd gone almost completely over to just gems, jewelry, precious materials and rare, ancient, or unique items. The people she had to deal with were simply more professional and easier to do business with than the alternative. So, here, with any security already distracted and the only real presence of authority being a couple college students working part time as valets she didn't exactly foresee much difficulty.

The bright light of the overhead helicopter swept over the face of the building again, forcing Selina to freeze in place and press herself against the cold brick before continuing down.

Luckily there also wasn't an overwhelming police presence immediately surrounding the building. Several empty patrol cars and a couple tactical vans sat off to one side, but the majority of the GCPD forces were still spread out in a wide perimeter, their cars' lights twinkling from the distant street between the trees and concentrated at the massive pillars and gates leading into the property. The cops that _had _come into the property were already inside trying to deal with the mess that had happened. Otherwise the rest seemed content to hang back in order to stop anyone trying leave the party.

The cars and temporary valet kiosk were close by one another, the cars parked out in front of the manor's main entry in neat rows as though displaying them for all to see. With pretty much everyone in attendance arriving in Rolls Royces, Mercedes, Bentleys, or similarly extravagant means of transportation that may have been exactly what they were doing. Their proximity would mean an easier and less time consuming job for her too. Indeed, she was already picking out the newly released Audi convertible sports car when she heard the helicopter turn overhead out of its orbit and head off toward the south and Gotham City.

Selina frowned. That wasn't right. They wouldn't just send away their chopper. Not without a very, very good reason. Something was definitely off.

She might not have as much time as she'd hoped.

Foregoing a completely stealthy approach she dropped the rest of the way to the ground, landing behind the two bored young men silently as she began searching the kiosk for the key she'd need. Hot wiring would take too long and be too visible. Besides...why make things more difficult on yourself if you didn't have to.

Selina smirked when she saw the personalized keychain and the Thorne family crest plated in gold upon it attached to an Audi key fob. Sometimes it really was the little things in life.

"Um...ma'am?"

She removed the keys from the board and turned her head partially back to see the two valets looking stunned and quite uncertain back at her. It was plain that neither of them knew quite what to make of a woman in a skin tight black suit with cat ears. Selina smiled brightly at the pair. "Relax kid, I'm just borrowing one. Have it back in no time. Nobody'll even know it was gone."

The two boys looked at each other quizzically before turning back towards her. "Listen," one managed, "I...uh...I'm sorry, but we can't actually let you just..."

A low pitched growl drew the attention of all three of them to Selina's right where the old, weathered gravel drive curved around the corner of the mansion in time to see a gleaming white luxury sports car come whipping around from the direction of the garage and plowing towards the waiting police blockade.

"Shit. Boys, I'm sorry." she said, turning and darting past them for the dark gray Audi. "You two are welcome to try and stop me if you'd like." Selina hopped into the open cockpit of the convertible and jammed the keys into the ignition. "But be warned that probably won't go all that well for you." Both valets still stood comically where they'd been, staring at her in stunned silence. Selina winked. "Besides, I know the owner. He's got this coming."

Anything further they may have said was drowned out as she shifted, slammed down on the accelerator, and released the clutch, sending a torrent of gravel and dust out behind her as the tires spun and dug in before propelling her forward after Bruce and Ivy.

* * *

><p>"You really can let me out anywhere along here. I won't tell them what direction you were headed. Promise."<p>

She'd managed to get past the police blockade surprisingly well. Intent on getting the floor plans to the mansion and figuring out their assault, setting up a proper, airtight perimeter may have fallen to officers less thorough and experienced than the ones he generally dealt with as the Batman. Ivy handled the high performance vehicle fairly well too, weaving it expertly through the small, clustered groupings of squad cars and support vehicles before racing off down the rural Palisades road.

With such little warning time and with their units busy trying to evacuate several hundred people from what they still probably thought was a biological terror attack a GCPD response to her high speed getaway wasn't going to be coming quickly. The transponder he'd long since had installed in all his vehicles would at least allow Alfred to track him once he was able to slip away from the aftermath of the gala. When that happened and when the Wraith would be overhead was just a matter of conjecture though. Probably not soon unfortunately.

"It must be nice to live in that oblivious, carefree state you inhabit," she spat back. Gone completely was the sultry seductress from earlier, replaced by a coldly angry woman devoid of any emotion or remorse toward what she was undertaking. "Tonight was meant to serve as something of a wake up call. Granted, in the end it may be more for others than yourself, but I hope you can take some form of solace in the fact that your life will finally be given a kind of worthy meaning. I'll understand, of course, if that comes as little consolation."

He worked the small handcuff key that Alfred had provided him earlier out of his back pocket, silently staring straight ahead as he began trying to manipulate the tiny item into position blindly behind his back. The speed at which she was driving was going to keep her distracted, but he needed to make sure she didn't suspect anything. She still had the small perfume bottle near enough to have it be handy in a pinch.

"So," he let the pitch of his voice rise in alarm, "you're really just gonna...gonna kill me? Just like that? What'd I do?"

She didn't take her eyes off the road, but shrugged casually. "You've done plenty. But frankly, I'm surprised you're just now realizing that you're not getting out of this. By now I'd have thought it was pretty obvious."

"And there's nothing I can do to convince you otherwise? To let me live? I get that you may not want money, but I have a _lot _of power and influence in this town. There's all sorts of things that could do for you in furthering your goals. Think about it...the full weight and power of Bruce Wayne and Wayne Enterprises. I mean...you could act globally."

Isley cocked her head to the side and was quiet for a moment. Having the full power of Wayne Enterprises behind her revolution would certainly go a long way, but Bruce was already sure she'd never go for the offer. There was no way for her to ensure he'd do what she wanted, no way she could always be there to control him now that her face was plastered all over the city in connection with all those murders. The reality would be much different than what he was proposing and Isley would see that. Finally, she seemed to come to the same conclusion, shrugging again. "Enticing, but no," Ivy said. "That's far too risky and not really a part of my plan. No, your death will serve a purpose. In the end, that's all I need."

"If you just want me dead then why haven't you already...well, you know."

"Because there's no sense in losing my final bargaining chip until I know I'm free and clear. Gordon and his band of merry idiots ought to have their hands full with the mess I left them...if they aren't already dead themselves. But, no sense being reckless. Besides," she turned and smiled at him for a second, making him freeze in his task before she went back to facing the road, "I have plans for you. You I'm going to make an example of."

Bruce bowed his head in feigned defeat. Just as the handcuff on his right wrist clicked open he whispered, "Will it be painful?"

"Oh, that's entirely up to you."

* * *

><p>"And...there...you are," Selina whispered to herself over the howling wind screaming over the front windshield of the convertible.<p>

The red brake lights ahead of her weren't approaching nearly as fast as the other two cars she'd caught and passed. At the clip she was moving that meant the car ahead of her had to be going at least sixty five to seventy miles an hour. On a lightly traveled road like the one they were on it made the odds of the vehicle being the car containing the redhead and Bruce pretty likely. The wide, low down, streamlined silhouette certainly helped tip her off as well.

The cops on the perimeter of the mansion had been scrambling when Selina went flying through their formations after the white sports car. By now they were undoubtedly in pursuit as well, but pitting squad cars against the high end, high performance sports cars meant it would be awhile before they'd actually catch up. If ever. She'd need to be gone before that ever happened of course, but one thing at a time. Just because she was trying to save Gotham's most famous inhabitant probably wouldn't negate the fact that she'd stolen a really, _really _expensive car to do so.

Plus there was that whole masked Catwoman thing. She'd really prefer to not have to attempt and explain that one.

Selina downshifted and eased back a little, crossing the painted center divider into the oncoming lane as the rear lights of the Lamborghini grew larger.

She silently mouthed another thank you for the simple road system of the Palisades. Although she'd only been about a minute and a half behind the two, if this had been Gotham and its winding, maze-like streets she wouldn't have stood a chance of finding them. Hell, the Batman somehow managed to always lose the cops and he was generally driving something that practically screamed for attention. The path of destruction the tank left certainly didn't take a genius to follow anyway. With giant, sprawling estates taking up almost all of the local landscape though there was precious few places for them to have turned off the road leading away from Wayne Manor. Selina had made the choice not to take the one side road she'd come across or either of the four driveway entrances that had zipped by on her right, figuring the redhead would head for the bay or Gotham to the south where she could more easily lose any pursuit that somehow managed to show up. Thankfully, for once Selina's luck seemed to be holding.

The other car didn't wobble or accelerate away as she moved to pass before instead settling in alongside it. Selina was greeted by a slightly confused look from the woman she knew only as Ivy, a look that transformed into something closer to disdain and annoyance when she motioned for the redhead to lower her window.

"Hi there. Nice night for a drive isn't it?" Selina yelled over the roaring wind and high performance engines when the glass was finally lowered. The look the other woman shot her could only be described as incredulous. It probably took a special breed to want to have a conversation alongside one another while traveling at almost seventy miles per hour. Unsurprisingly though Ivy didn't respond. "Listen, you got a minute?" Selina tried. "I'm afraid you've got something that belongs to me."

The woman's forehead creased in confusion as she glanced over before returning her attention forward. "What the hell are you talking about?" came the shouted response over the background noise. "Who _are _you?"

"Wayne." Selina pointed to the wide eyed billionaire sitting in the passenger seat next to the redhead. "I need something from him. It's important. But you can have him when I'm done though. Promise"

Ivy shook her head emphatically while still eyeing the road. "Are you kidding me?" she managed. "No. Wayne's mine and he's not going anywhere. You can have what's left after _I'm _done with him. Not until then. Now go away."

Selina smiled broadly and cupped her mouth to try and better project her voice across the gap while simultaneously veering over until the pristine paint jobs on both cars were mere inches apart. Judging by the look on the woman's face, Selina had her attention. "Then how about this," she started. "You give me the boy wonder over there or I run the two of you off the road, issue you a nice thorough beatdown, and take him from you anyway. How's that sound?"

Ivy's face simply darkened as a scowl spread further across her features and her car accelerated, the window closing as it pulled away from Selina's Audi. Well...that _had _been a bit of a long shot anyway. She sighed and shifted gears, merging back in place behind her target and accelerating to keep pace.

Fine. If the crazy woman wanted to do things the hard way then who was Selina to argue? Her foot pressed down further, inching the pedal closer to the floor and closing the gap with the rear bumper ahead of her. If the redhead wanted to see crazy then Selina could do a bit of crazy. Hell, she usually lived for any and all adrenaline pumping thrills she came across. This time though...this time it wasn't just her life on the line and her palms were a bit sweatier than normal.

The two cars met, bumper to bumper, sending a solid jolt through both machines that started both people in the white sports car. Bruce turned around as best he could to see what was happening while Isley's wild eyes could plainly be seen glancing up into the rearview mirror in horror.

Selina smiled sweetly and saluted. Then she gently rammed them again.

* * *

><p><em>AN: By now you may have come to realize that I am not in fact going to reach my goal of finishing this before The Dark Knight Rises is released, effectively making this an AU. No matter...this story WILL get finished because of the loyal and greatly appreciated readers who have embraced it. There still plenty more to come.  
><em>


	40. Chapter 40

_Somehow this one got really long. Enjoy.  
><em>

_Reviews only take a second and make things so worthwhile for us authors. So, take a second and let us know what you think. Insight is always welcome and encouraged and they certainly provide additional incentive to get that next chapter out.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The needle on the speedometer twitched over seventy five as Ivy pulled the steering wheel hard over, narrowly avoiding side swiping another big rig as she wove between the massive, multi-wheeled truck and a pickup that had been in front of her before the maneuver.<p>

Behind them the Audi went the other direction, accelerating even harder and weaving left around the pickup before darting over two lanes of traffic and right back in behind them, the tires squealing slightly before they found their grip again on the mist slickened asphalt.

The empty, tree lined streets of the Palisades had been left behind quickly enough for the interstates that ringed and eventually entered Gotham City proper. Wide and built for high speed traffic they were nonetheless still remarkably busy given the late hour. With most of the oceanfront property on the mainland this close to the city consisting of shipping and manufacturing for the busy port, the traffic also consisted predominantly of long haul and delivery trucks. Two high performance sports cars traveling at high speeds in and around them was bound to stand out and though the cops may have lost them back in the rural area where the chase had started, here there was no way they wouldn't be reported and found. As a result Isley was getting visibly frustrated...and desperate. She needed things to end. And quickly.

The Lamborghini accelerated, darting forward as a small straightaway opened up before them when several alarmed drivers pulled out of their way. Selina easily kept pace. A second later her Audi kissed the rear of Bruce's car, sending it wobbling briefly before the redhead was able to wrest it back under control.

"Jesus Chri...do you have anyone that's _not _trying to kill you?" she asked, her eyes never leaving the freeway.

Bruce held on tight as she wove through another narrow gap. "Honestly? This is all kind of new to me. I'm more used to people falling all over themselves when they meet me." He grit his teeth as she almost sideswiped a sedan while violently merging lanes. "Though I suppose when you're in my position you're bound to make some enemies," Bruce shook his head, but he had to fight to keep the corner of his lip from curling up slightly, "but I had no idea I was _this _popular. Besides," he said, "it seems like she's actually trying to kill you. Sounds like me she needs alive."

She was trying to save him. That beautiful, enigmatic, confusing woman was actually trying to rescue him from a serial killer. That was unexpected...and not wholly unwelcome. But Selina also didn't know what she was getting herself into. Pamela Isley was _not _a woman to be trifled with lightly. He'd already discovered that the hard way. He couldn't allow her to think this was all simply some sort of game. If that happened then there was the chance that neither of them would get out of this alive.

The right tires of the white car skidded as they found the gravel shoulder, bumping along before Ivy was able to pull it back on the asphalt.

Bruce took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He might have to revise that assessment as to whether or not he was even going to survive this chase too. For all her calm, cool, calculating demeanor Isley didn't seem to be comfortable behind the wheel during a high speed chase. But then again, few were. With his hands supposedly handcuffed behind his back Bruce couldn't put on his seatbelt without being noticed and at the speeds they were going any attempt to wrest control of the vehicle from her would probably result in a catastrophic accident. That meant that for the moment he was still a bit stuck. Nothing Alfred had given him was going to deal with this situation. If only he had the portable electromagnetic pulse he and Lucius had been working on.

Selina, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualms about driving at ridiculous speeds. In fact, if anything she seemed to be excelling at it. There was bound to be a story there.

The gray convertible pulled alongside, weaving away to pass a delivery van before darting back into place in the lane next to Isley. The cat-eared, disguised woman smirked again, gave a small wave, and jerked the steering wheel hard over, plowing her two hundred thousand dollar sports car broadside into the even more expensive one Bruce and Ivy were in.

The carbon fiber of the side panels cracked and crumbled, followed moments later by the screech of metal scraping against metal and the cracking of one of the rear paneled windows. The Lamborghini skewed sideways as the redhead fought the wheel, skittering back across the weed choked side of the freeway before regaining its traction. A moment later the Audi smashed into them again, pinning them against the steel safety rail lining the roadway and sending sparks arcing behind them.

"What the _hell _did you do to this woman?" Isley yelled over the grinding noises coming from their right side.

Bruce just shook his head and grit his teeth, pretending to tense up in fear.

Selina finally relented her attack when an overpass narrowed the lanes ahead, effectively eliminating the emergency shoulder that the Lamborghini had made its home for the past several miles. Isley wasted no time in steering back left. Unlike before when she'd simply tried to accelerate and pull away though she instead slammed back into Selina, sending both cars skidding sideways the opposite way and narrowly missing a lone semi as it slammed on its brakes.

Before they could reach the concrete barrier separating the north and southbound traffic the Audi slammed on its brakes in a violent, screeching torrent of sound, sending up a cloud of burning rubber as the car suddenly disappeared from alongside them. Not expecting its sudden absence Ivy wasn't ready to steer back away and managed to again smash the side of their own car against another solid obstruction.

It was only a moment though before they were back on the roadway and again accelerating away.

Bruce shot his driver and kidnapper a look. Her face was grim, her lips set in a firm grimace and her eyes still set with an unrelenting determination. She wasn't just going to give in to this abuse no matter how much pressure and danger of bodily injury there was. That was the level of her conviction and commitment to her cause. Selina was actually going to have to run them both off the road for this to stop. That or he'd be forced to make a move.

Another jarring shudder from behind interrupted his thoughts as the Audi again let its presence be felt. Their own sports car swerved slightly again while Isley cursed under her breath. She shifted and again tried to wend her way through several large trucks on their way to the busy port, but losing her pursuer again proved beyond her capabilities.

"Goddammit," she muttered, slamming on the brakes as she narrowly avoided a panicked motorist. Then, before Bruce could react, she shifted again and slammed on the accelerator, plowing into the commuter's right rear bumper and sending them spinning out of control directly into the path of the gray convertible behind them.

* * *

><p>"<em>Holy<em>..."

Selina spun the wheel full over, skidding sideways as the dark blue sedan came spinning towards her. She'd made it most of the way, but at the last second braced herself as the oncoming car clipped the rear quarter of hers in a jolt of crashing metal and splintered glass. Its own momentum redirected, the Audi went skidding sideways across two lanes before grinding broadside against an aged delivery truck.

Thankfully none of the tires exploded from the abuse.

The convertible pulled back into a clear lane and sped forward again, Selina searching for her target. If the crazy redhead wanted to play games then she'd be happy to play some games of her own. _Bruce_, she reminded herself. That car _also _had Bruce in it. Nothing stupid.

She slammed into another gear and accelerated even faster, moving into the far left lane as she tried to avoid the slower lanes they had been traveling in.

The rumpled white sports car was less than a mile ahead of her, still traveling at a fast clip, but no longer doing the crazy maneuvers to get away it had been. Selina stayed away, trying to remain hidden among the extended tractor trailers and other traffic. When a line of the semis blocked her path though she veered left to the shoulder and pushed the speedometer up, flying past several stunned faces as she was temporarily screened from her quarry.

The Audi managed to put almost a mile between herself and the kidnapper while remaining unseen. Thankfully, the dark charcoal coloring was working to her advantage while the bright white of the Lamborghini all but glowed its position.

Selina slowed, matching the pace of the surrounding traffic as she merged back over to the right. In the darkness, she hoped her rear lights resembled more of a commuter car than the high performance vehicle it was, but there was little she could do about it at now. Her own vehicle didn't have quite the squat, wide shape that evoked excessive speed when even at a standstill that the Italian one did. Hopefully that would serve her now.

The redhead didn't see it coming. There was no jolt of recognition or swerve to the side when Selina merged slowly into their lane a hundred yards ahead of them. Hell, she even used her turn signal, carefully managing her speed so that she'd appear like any other traffic.

There was definitely a jolt though when she slammed on her brakes less than forty feet away, causing an expected screeching and the accompanying screen of smoke to billow from her front tires. Barely visible, the stunned look on the redhead's face was definitely satisfying before it was blocked by the white plume.

"Remember me?" Selina murmured to herself, smirking at the rear view mirror a split second before the other vehicle careened into the back of hers.

* * *

><p>Bruce saw it coming. Not a long way out, but far enough that he was able to brace himself somewhat for the impact. He knew the distinctive look of the Audi's brake lights, the way they were outlined in slightly brighter LED's than the rest of the red signals. Isley obviously didn't. Hell, she didn't even have time to utter a curse once she saw the car suddenly braking ahead of them. Instead, she tried in vain to slam on the brakes and start to swerve left, but it was inevitable. Their nose plowed into the gray car's bumper while still traveling above forty-five.<p>

It had been awhile since he'd purposely wrecked one of his previous sports cars in defense of a man that could ruin him. Unlike the black vehicle he tended to drive at night you tended to really feel it in these things. Every crunch, twist, and smash echoed and reverberated through the mass of metal and machinery and the much softer humans inside.

The world swam back into focus a few seconds later, a world that was still moving beyond the deflated white canvas of the air bag. Bruce glanced to his left to see Isley still working the car's controls, shifting into a higher gear and pounding on the pedal as their own machine scraped against the equally mangled Audi. The slight trickle of blood from her hairline and the way her wig hung slightly askew let him know that she'd taken almost as good a beating as he had.

He also finally saw his best chance to end this. With a wreck as violent as this pretty much anyone would believe his kidnapper could have been knocked unconscious. So long as he was still handcuffed by the time any help arrived no one would ever suspect him of subduing Isley personally.

Bruce grunted as he righted himself, his shoulder exploding in white-hot pain. In his state of being, unrestrained and still pretending to be shackled his shoulder had borne the brunt of the impact, slamming into the air bag and dash despite doing his best to brace himself. The resulting dislocation was going to make things more difficult. Especially considering it was his left shoulder. That fact meant that to get to Ivy he'd have to reach across not only his own body but the center console as well.

Bruce briefly considered going to the trouble of resetting his shoulder first. The other, more minor injuries could wait. From the feel of things they were just minor contusions anyway. Nothing that time wouldn't fix. But his arm...

Unfortunately, in her attempt to derail the chase Selina hadn't taken one thing into account. This particular car had the engine block located to the rear, behind the passengers. It was a unique design characteristic of all Lamborghinis, made to better distribute the weight towards its center of mass. As such, smashing into the front end, while certainly incredibly damaging, didn't necessarily mean the vehicle was incapacitated like most would be. With its front tires still relatively intact the damage would be mostly cosmetic and structural, but wouldn't necessarily affect its functionality. At least not yet. Indeed the car was already moving away from the rest of the wreckage, slowly accelerating as it finally disengaged fully, shedding debris as it went. With the other drivers stopped and gawking at the carnage it was going to make a getaway rather simple. It also meant he'd missed his window of opportunity almost before he'd even known there was one.

Judging by the way the tires of the grey convertible were beginning to move and the glimpse he caught of the black clad Selina working the wheel and shifter it looked as though her car wasn't out of the fight yet either. The exact opposite of the Italian car held true for the German built Audi as its engine was in the front, opposite where she'd smashed into them. Although the its rear might be a twisted mess, she wasn't completely out of commission either.

* * *

><p>Selina blinked and shook her head to clear the stars that seemed to be be bouncing in front of her eyes. Her neck ached a bit, but otherwise she seemed remarkably intact. Holy hell had that been a bit more than she'd expected. The crazy redhead was an even worse driver than she'd expected.<p>

The grating sound of metal on metal drew her still wobbly gaze to the right where the remains of the white car was bucking against hers, pushing it slightly as the engine revved and sent the twin piles of scrap moving against each other.

Selina swore.

That should have cracked the engine block irreparably. After that much force the damn thing should be little more than a giant, stupendously expensive, Italian paperweight. Hell, she'd already been imagining how much fun it'd be to kick the ever loving snot out of the psycho behind the other wheel. That plan certainly seemed to be on hold for the moment.

Her claws made short work of the remains of the air bag hanging from the center of the steering wheel. With the obstructed view gone and the lack of an engine at the front of the vehicle obvious Selina swore again. How in the hell had she managed to forget that little factoid? She'd damn sure stolen enough of the fucking things in her lifetime. Hell, taking out their engine while preserving her own had been the whole point of her attack to begin with.

A girl had to have a means of escape after all.

And now they looked like they were going to make a break for it. Again.

As the Lamborghini finally detached itself from the rest of the wreckage Selina cursed again for good measure. Immediately she turned the engine over, working the pedal and clutch and blowing a sigh of relief when everything caught quickly as the Audi came purring back to life. She pulled away, weaving through the other stopped cars and trucks as their drivers stared, before upshifting and speeding away again after her quarry.

If the bitch with the awful red weave thought Selina was a one trick pony, well she'd just have to damn well teach her a few more things. Cause this was one woman that simply did not deal well with losing.

Especially not with this much at stake.

Because of their wreck the freeway immediately before her was wide open, with only a couple cars here and there that had avoided the accident. With few obstacles in her path Selina risked opening the throttle up even further, pushing the straining, smashed vehicle past a hundred. At that speed though she almost missed the small pile of debris on the shoulder near the next off-ramp as she sped by. Her luck held again as the tires held together for a breakneck deceleration as she went skidding right, taking the exit at almost seventy five.

Like a trail of breadcrumbs leading the way, another piece of twisted metal lay to the right of the intersection leading toward a line of large warehouses across from Gotham's last remaining cannery and the giant gantry cranes that marked the start of the sprawling container yards beyond.

* * *

><p>Getting off the freeway was not good news for him. Not with an injured shoulder. Ivy was obviously trying to bring this whole ordeal to a close and hoping to find a quiet place where she could finish him. In this neighborhood the chances of her finding that seemed pretty good.<p>

Selina's intervention couldn't be counted on either. It had been kind of touching how hard she'd pursued the two of them, but for all he knew she was still out of commission back on the East Gotham Expressway. Hopefully she at least wasn't hurt. Of course, it was probably for the best if she couldn't help him. There was no need to put another life in danger. Not when, despite his injured shoulder, he could likely do this himself. Besides, nobody knew what the redheaded woman was capable of quite like him. If anyone was prepared to take her on, it was him...mask or no.

Closed storefronts interspersed with larger warehouses and the occasional small manufacturing plant passed by quickly as Isley continued on her torrid pace. Although the port would be alive and thriving at this time of night, its soft glow visible over the rooftops, pretty much everything else they'd find here would be shuttered until morning, doors sturdily padlocked and windows barred. It made for a pretty convenient place to ditch a body. Hell, if someone was really being serious, they could even make it down to the water to dump the body in the bay. In Gotham, that had been done plenty of times before. Here, that was almost an art form.

But no, that wasn't Ivy's style. No, she'd want the body found and attributed to her. Something to spread her influence and infamy in a vain attempt to further her own agenda and ideals. That held especially true considering this time it would be Bruce Wayne. Like his parents' deaths all those years ago, _that _would send a shockwave.

The weathered concrete edifice of one of Axis Chemicals satellite plants passed by on the left as the half demolished Lamborghini slowed and turned right, heading closer to the waterfront. Between the buildings he could start to see the twinkling towers and spires of the city across the bay as they reflected off the gently rolling water between them and the mainland.

"It won't be painful." Bruce glanced at the driver as she made another turn, but she kept her eyes on the road ahead of them rather then returning the look, her expression neutral. "I'm an activist...a revolutionary. You can't expect me to change my mind on this, but I'm also not a barbarian." She took a breath. "I'll understand if that comes as little consolation."

Bruce stayed quiet, trying to figure out his next move. His left arm was practically limp, any attempt to move it caused a strong jolt of pain to shoot through his entire body. The suit generally prevented injuries like this, the tight fit, padding, and armored plating protecting his joints and acting as braces. That made this slightly unfamiliar territory. There were ways to deal with this, of course, but sadly, since he was still supposed to be handcuffed, nothing easily presented itself. He'd need to be ready to jump at any opportunity that _did _come up though, injured or not.

Isley had made a point several times to ensure he knew she wasn't changing her mind about what was to be done to him. So what was this then? Her tone seemed almost...tired. Like the weight of what she was attempting to do was bearing down upon her. Was she further trying to justify things to herself? Was she actually showing remorse or some kind of empathy toward a prospective victim? Whatever this was it wasn't the same firebrand that had been able to easily face down the GCPD and more than a few automatic weapons earlier. Not that _that _Ivy wasn't close by though. If anything, this current version was probably the aberration.

They were definitely closer to the water now. Here and there it actually punched through between the buildings to allow for access to the various ships that these businesses thrived upon. In some places the buildings themselves were built on pylons, extending out into and above the waterline.

Despite how circumstances had changed Isley's plans there was definitely a goal still in mind. She was piloting the near empty streets of the area far too deliberately. Bruce knew of two or three Wayne Enterprises holdings down here in this general area. He'd even considered one for a small satellite base of operations for the Batman until the logistics of getting into the city quickly became clear. Could she be taking him to one of his company's own properties? Carl Greenwood was found in one of Axis' after all. That made as much sense as anything.

"No..."

The neutral look of worn determination Bruce had been noting disappeared in the blink of an eye before he'd even had time to finish the thought, replaced with that familiar simmering fire as fury flashed across her face, her eyes narrowing and her jaw flexing momentarily before the high beams washed the entire car in a harsh, yellow-white light.

This time the collision was to their rear section, the Audi spearing them broadside, directly behind the passenger compartment and sending them spinning out of control in a mess of shredded tires and crumpled metal.

The world spun and seemed to coalesce into a jumble of images, shattering glass, screeching metal, and throbbing pain as everything went beyond comprehension. Somewhere amongst the chaos and fury Bruce also had the briefest glimpse of the other sports car slamming upside down through a wooden barrier before plummeting into the dark waters of the bay out of view. Then all his concentration left him as his own disabled shoulder went slamming into the nearest door as the Lamborghini smashed through a storefront before finally coming to a rest half in and half out of the empty building.

* * *

><p>Metal and shrapnel spun freely through the air, skittering across the asphalt even as beaded pieces of glass seemed to explode outward. The convertible cartwheeled after colliding with the Italian speedster, spinning end over end once before crashing down on the hood and sliding sideways through a barrier and into the sea below. It took another second or two before the other vehicle came to a stop as well, now little more than a jumbled mess.<p>

The entire horrifying scene was reflected in a pair of mirrored lenses, the eyes behind them wide at the unexpected scale of the destruction.

"God," the woman managed in muted terror, standing in the shadows at the mouth of the alleyway opposite the crash, a startled hand over her mouth. She stared a moment longer in shock. "Jesus, please be alright," she whispered, starting forward through the darkness just as one of the crumpled car's doors creaked twice in protest before being forced open.

* * *

><p>From beside him he heard a low groan before the creak of metal signaled the opening of the driver's side door. A minute later, after several hard tugs from the outside his own door was yanked open as well.<p>

Bruce winced as he tried to move. Besides his shoulder he could count quite a few more sore areas now. Thankfully nothing seemed broken, but the throbbing in his head indicated he'd struck his head pretty hard. Hopefully there wasn't a concussion. That wouldn't be much help at the moment.

"I'm afraid," Isley said as she stooped down, "that this is where our night ends, Mister Wayne." He didn't miss the slight wince when she bent her leg to get down to his level. She didn't look good either. The two accidents had done a number to her too, but he seemed like he'd gotten the worst of it. Even injured though Isley seemed to have little patience, yanking on his bad arm to pull him from the smashed car and eliciting a new burst of jagged pain that caused Bruce to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek. "I _had _hoped to conclude things with something a bit more...meaningful." She glanced up at the dingy alleyway squashed between two dilapidated buildings they'd partially ended up in and sighed. "But I suppose I should take what I can get."

Bruce didn't meet her eyes, his own gaze staying on the jagged hole in the security fence on the far side of the street where Selina's car had broken through and gone over the edge. He couldn't see the water from where he was, but based on the split second image burned into his brain he didn't think she could have survived it. Not in a convertible with it careening end over end and upside down.

The redhead's own gaze followed his. "Well," she began, "if there's a silver lining tonight I suppose it's that she's finally gone. Damn but if she wasn't getting on my nerves." She pushed him from behind as he continued to stare numbly. "Come on."

Bruce coughed as he rose slowly and unevenly to his feet. He needed to focus. To compartmentalize. Now wasn't the time to go off on some hell bent mission of vengeance and stupidly wind up dead too. He needed to be clear headed. He needed to keep things going as he found answers. Rachael wouldn't have wanted him to die because of her when he'd been after the Joker. Selina wouldn't want him to die because of her either. Probably.

"It doesn't bother you that someone just died," he finally choked out, stumbling a bit forward. Isley just shoved him again and stayed quiet. Bruce shook his head again in a further effort to clear it. "And I still don't even know what this is all about?" he continued. "Why the hell are you doing all this? What is it you think I did? What could it have possibly been that it makes all..._this _necessary?"

Ivy grunted a little and pushed him once again, staying behind him and pointing further down the grime stained street toward a large hole cut into a panel of the bordering chainlink fence. "I'm doing this because I was naive enough to allow myself to believe in you," she growled. "Christ, I don't know what I was thinking. I actually bought your bullshit and believed you were committed to making a difference." She scoffed. "_You. _But you turned out to be one of the worst ones of all. I couldn't just let my mistake stand. Not when you were right here in front of me. The wicked deserve to be punished, Mister Wayne. It was _you _that caused that woman's death, not me. Your own actions led to this."

"Difference? Wicked? What the hell are you talking about? I still don't..."

When she pushed again at his back he was ready, shuffling his feet and pretended to catch them on a piece of the shredded chassis, stumbling a bit before falling forward. At the last second Bruce turned his body as though to protect himself from injury, slamming his left shoulder into the hard pavement.

The pain was dizzying, an explosion that coursed through his body all the way down to his feet and seemed to echo and pound through his head at the same time. He grit his teeth and tried his best to shield his face from his kidnapper. Best if she didn't know he was actually up to something or that he was injured.

But, as planned, his previously dislocated shoulder was now back in its proper place.

Isley, however, was not amused. Already she was pulling on him with all her strength, trying to get him back to his feet. Bruce stumbled to his knees with his hands still held behind his back imitating a man still firmly shackled. With another grunt and tug from the woman, he made it back to his feet.

"You make it sound like we've met before," he said as he pretended to shakily regain his footing, "but when I asked you before about seeming familiar you denied it. So you lied to me?"

"No," she said, shoving him again from behind. "I never lied. You'd never met Ivy until tonight. You met the woman I used to be. It was that woman that foolishly thought you'd actually be a champion for the environment." She scoffed and shook her head in disgust.

Bruce stopped dead in his tracks and turned partially to face her. "Environment?" he asked. Then he appeared to narrow his eyes and study her features. Just about the time she was about to push him again he quietly whispered, "Pamela Isley?"

She smiled coldly. "Is a name that is now nothing more than a tool for me. She was weak, scrabbling in the dirt and detritus and creating little real change. Trying to stay within the system and flailing away with impunity. It was time for something greater. It was time for Ivy." She smiled again and gestured toward the fence. "This way, Mister Wayne."

Finally alone, out of a speeding car, and with his hands free and shoulder in place it was now or never. He wouldn't get a better time to make his move and finally take Ivy out. He'd just have to hope that people would just assume Bruce Wayne got lucky or something in subduing his captor. He'd also have to hope there would be a little luck involved and her toxin wasn't released.

The next time she pushed him he'd strike. If he moved fast enough she'd be off balance and he could control her momentum and the arm with the bottle. It would take him less than three seconds to have her disarmed and her forearm broken. Hopefully, with his head swimming and his arm still throbbing he'd be accurate though. Any mistake would likely be his last.

Bruce slowed, pretending to stumble a little again, enticing Isley to spring his trap.

"Ya know," piped in a low, purring, familiar voice, "I warned you. I really did. But did you listen? Do they _ever _listen?" Selina's lithe black form stepped out of the shadows further down the alley and sidled closer. Sometimes I don't even know why I bother."

She was alive. She was beautiful and alive and somehow, miraculously, in better physical condition than either Bruce or Isley. She also didn't appear to be wet. Bruce fought back a relieved smile, his shoulders suddenly several tons lighter. Beautiful _and _brilliant. She hadn't even been in the car. But now still wouldn't be the time to lose himself in the moment. By showing up she'd effectively negated his ambush for now, but things were still suddenly looking so much brighter than they were minutes before. Seeing her breathing he couldn't help the way his heart was thumping in his chest.

Bruce felt more than saw Isley tense, the somewhat battered woman sidestepping him and fingering the small perfume bottle in her right hand. The glare she shot her rival across the alley conveyed all the murderous intent he knew she possessed.

"You," the woman hissed.

Selina smirked, seeming perfectly comfortable despite the thick tension in the air. "That's not the look of someone who's happy to see me."

"I don't know who you are," Isley continued, her voice carrying an unmistakable edge, "how you survived, or what you want, but I told you not to interfere. While I may not have any quarrel with you, you seem to be intent on forcing the issue. I promise you, if you push me any further I _will _kill you without a second thought. You will not prevent me from accomplishing my goals. Whatever your business is with Wayne, forget about it and go because I am most certainly _not _playing around anymore."

Selina's masked head cocked curiously to the side, her eyes hidden, before rotating a tiny fraction to take Bruce in. Her usual sarcasm wasn't going to go over well with Ivy. But maybe that was the point. "Is she being serious here?" Selina asked, addressing him and nodding nonchalantly toward the other woman. "Cause unless I'm way off here I think she's threatening me with perfume...or something and honestly, I don't really know what to do with batshit crazy. That's a little outside my purview." She leaned back against the concrete wall behind her, casually crossing her arms across her chest. "Besides, I'd probably feel kinda bad smacking around someone with mental deficiencies." Her shoulders bobbed as she shrugged nonchalantly and pretended to examine the nails on one of her hands. "Not that that would stop me."

"How are you alive?" Bruce cut in, his jaw still dropped open a bit. "I saw your car.."

Selina just smirked. "Nine lives, moneybags. It takes a bit more than that to put me down for the count." Her head shifted back to Isley. "But I'm all done playing now."

"Cute." Isley's eyes narrowed. "I'll say it one more time. Leave. You have no idea what you're dealing with."

That drew a chuckle from the costumed thief. "Cause you do? Look lady, I've got cat's ears and a whip. I think it's safe to say neither of us knows what we're dealing with. What I _do _know is that you're no fighter. That much is painfully obvious and I'd really hate to mess up such a pretty face." The way she was cracking her knuckles and bouncing on the balls of her feet though tended to contradict that statement though. "Okay," she conceded, smiling a second later, "that's a lie. I'll actually probably enjoy it. It may even be cathartic after the night I've had. But I'm still going to give you one final way out." Selina's shoulders bobbed up and down. "What can I say? I'm generous like that."

The redhead stood her ground though, fingering the small bottle of poison. "You really think I'll be that easy? That I'll just back down based on some petty threats?"

Selina took a step forward. "Promises," she said, "not threats. They're promises. And yes, I fully expect you to turn around and walk away. The alternative won't end well for you."

The masked woman continued approaching slowly, circling to the side to orbit them from a safe distance. Unlike the tensed redhead, Selina exuded nothing but a calm, cool confidence as she matched the stare of the other woman. It was as though she was just biding her time and waiting for the right moment. Isley seemed to feel the same thing because she suddenly switched tactics, trying to appeal to the other woman's sense of morality.

"This man is a terrorist," she tried, the desperation in her voice causing it to raise slightly. "His wealth is built on the subjugation and destruction of countless innocent species of flora and fauna. Who knows the kind of irreparable damage he's done in his time? Can't you see what I'm trying to do? I'm trying to make things right. I'm trying to help Mother Nature regain a balance with humankind. You _have _to let me go through with this. I'm doing this for us _all_. For our very future."

That got Selina's attention. She stopped cold about fifteen feet away, peering intently at the redhead from behind her mirrored lenses. "Flora and fauna? You're serious? You're gonna kill a guy because he bulldozes a few weed choked acres? Jesus lady, nut job doesn't even begin to cover you." She waved her hands in the air demonstratively. "So, what...are you gonna claim to talk to plants next? Got some magic powers to wow us with?"

Isley's anger was back now in full force, bubbling beneath the surface. She took a menacingly dangerous step towards Selina. "Crazy?" she asked. "Says the woman dressed like a cat."

Selina smiled again, further provoking the woman. "The ears...those are for fun. The claws..." she spread her fingers at her sides, flexing them so the small blades at each tip twinkled in what little light pierced this far into the alley, "...much less so."

The perfume bottle came up defensively, but with Selina still too far away for the mist to have any effect before dissipating it did little to actively threaten her. Based on her body language though she still seemed rather dubious about the lethality of a small crystal spray bottle.

He had to warn her. Visions of her darting in to attack spun through his mind, only to see her met with an unobtrusive cloud of vapor, dying moments later as she gasped for breath. He already thought he'd seen her die once tonight. He didn't need a repeat performance.

Bruce glanced at Ivy. She was still completely focused on Selina, assuming he was still safely shackled beside her. He could always take her out and claim that he'd taken a self defense class or two. Selina had seen the Batman fight though. She may be able to identify him from that or she may not. He'd have to decide whether that was a chance worth taking. Again though...at least he could warn her.

"Listen," he managed, clearing his throat, "I don't know if you're here to help me or what, but be careful." He nodded toward a glowering Isley. "She's not kidding around. Whatever that stuff is, it kills. Or at least it seemed to earlier anyway." Both of the women stared openly at him now. Apparently they'd been so busy trading barbs that they'd almost forgotten he was standing there. Bruce looked back at Isley. "You told me you were going to kill me. I figure going with the unknown variable is better than that."

Selina shrugged and nodded once. "Fair enough," she said and with a quick flick of her wrist the whip she'd had snaked around her waist was uncoiled in her hand before being sent rapidly arching towards the pair.

It didn't so much as snatch the bottle from between the redhead's fingers as it smashed into her wrist, cracking and jolting her into releasing the vial. Even Bruce was caught off guard by the sudden, calculated, precise attack that she'd made so nonchalantly, watching in stunned silence as the small object dropped to the ground and began to roll away as the redhead grabbed her wrist in pain. Thankfully, even had it broken it probably wouldn't have been fatal. Without being rendered into an aerosol form it couldn't be spread easily or breathed in, simply pooling and drying up or soaking into the pavement.

Isley was only starting to react to the attack, looking back up from the bottle, when Selina's second strike landed. The darting kick to her lower leg took out her balance, crumpling Isley to the ground on her knees before she was able to react. Selina followed that up with a backhand across her cheek, sending the smaller woman to the ground. Bruce had seen her take on fully grown, well trained men though. She was holding back.

The black clad woman didn't press her advantage though, letting the prone woman wheeze on the ground for a moment before she rose shakily, glaring daggers as she wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth.

"You gonna behave now or am I gonna have to start trimming little pieces off?" Selina again displayed the subtle, sharp razors on her fingertips.

Isley briefly glanced to where her delicate weapon had rolled, an action that had Bruce stepping to his right, trying to put himself more between it and the woman. At the moment though it was too far away to do her any good against Selina. She took a half step left instead, edging ever closer to the nearest wall of the alley.

"You're making a mistake," the taller woman warned, wrapping the bullwhip back around her waist before securing it tightly. She crossed her arms over her chest, completely negating any kind of defensive posture one would normally have when facing a threat. Obviously she saw very little in Ivy to fear now that she no longer had her little toy. "We've already established that you don't listen too well, but let me put it this way. Either you sit down and get tied up or I sit you down and you get tied up. Either way you're leaving here with the cops. It's up to you whether you have a concussion or not when you do."

Isley took another step to her left, the raw hatred in her eyes never wavering.

"You really are a glutton for punishment, aren't ya?"

The redhead darted for the far wall, back toward the crashed vehicle. Rather than give chase, Selina instead went for the steel grill work embedded above the barred windows on the side of one of the warehouses. Hefting herself up, she went darting up the wall, expertly hopping from one handhold to the next until she disappeared into the darkness beyond the well of light projecting from the street.

Damn was she quiet.

Bruce dove for the perfume bottle. No sense in leaving control of it in doubt. Selina wasn't retreating, she was going after the other woman on her own terms. On the off chance Ivy managed to get away from her though he didn't want her getting the poison back. Not without having to come through him.

The redhead had no intention of trying to flee though. She just wanted a weapon. Amongst the debris littering the alley was a poorly stacked pile of scrapped aluminum poles. Roughly four feet in length, she grabbed the first one her fingers could reach, whipping back around only to find the darkened stretch empty save for Bruce.

Judging by the look on her face she certainly hadn't expected that. She spun around to look back in the direction of the street where the Lamborghini was still smoldering, heedless of the shadow that dropped silently to the ground behind her.

"Whatya wanna bet that doesnt' help you?" the dark shape whispered.

The pole came whipping around immediately, finding nothing but air as Selina was already rolling below the strike, popping up back between Ivy and the freedom of the street beyond. The improvised weapon came around again, whistling through the air as she brought it down in an arc, missing the costumed woman by inches as she spun out of the way.

"Strike two," Selina managed through her small grin.

This time Isley screamed, rushing her target in frustration in an ill advised attempt to attack. Her target easily danced out of the way again, toying with her as once more the club found nothing but empty air.

"I'll kill you," she hissed, coming back around to face the other woman.

"Not likely," said a bemused Selina. "Fact is, you couldn't hit the broad side of a..._oh_, here we go."

The pole went whistling through the air again, closer to Selina than before, but she still managed to avoid its path, darting further back out of its reach.

Isley was breathing hard, the combination of her injuries and her exertion taking their toll. She wasn't up for this. The things she'd done over the past months, they'd been through deception and seduction. She couldn't handle something like this physically. Not for long. But Selina wasn't trying to wear her down. She didn't need to. She could have ended this fight before it had even begun.

Bruce frowned. She was irresponsible, toying with an obviously outmatched opponent rather than neutralizing her quickly. It was cocky and reckless. One lucky hit or unfortunate mistake and she could end up with the tables turned on her. Cockiness could result in death. Never underestimating an opponent was a lesson Bruce had learned long ago through experience. Hopefully Selina didn't figure that out the hard way.

"You've ruined everything," the redhead practically cried, flailing away again. "_Everything. _This man needs to pay. He _has _to..."

"Oh, just shut up already." Selina avoided yet another strike that could've damn near taken her head off. "Your kind of crazy might just be contagious."

Instead of sidestepping it, she parried the next blow, directing the force of the club down and away. Her own counterstrike was sloppy though, catching Isley in the ribs, but not doing a great deal more than just angering the woman further. Anger was good though. Anger was useful in an opponent. It made them act rashly and without thought. Fear was probably the only better emotion to achieve. But Selina was overconfident and not taking full advantage of it. That opening should have produced a crippling blow or allowed her to end the fight for good.

She deflected the next strike as well, but this time didn't miss with the counter. Selina stepped past the blow, hooking Isley's elbow with the inside of her own to blunt the force of the pole. In one smooth move she disengaged and spun around the woman, planting her now free elbow into the depression between the redhead's shoulder blades. The resulting force sent her face first into the nearest warehouse's wall. It wasn't enough to knock her out, but she was definitely seeing stars, her legs visibly wobbly. Somewhere along the way she'd also lost her improvised weapon.

The following heel strike was excessive but it did put the woman down for good, her limp body falling unceremoniously to the ground in a jumble.

Bruce just stood where he was, his mind racing, already coming up with explanations that Selina was undoubtedly going to want. He was also eventually going to have to give a statement to the police. Just because Ivy was finally, mercifully out of the picture, it didn't mean his night was over.

"There," Selina said from about twenty feet away, looking down on the splayed out woman. "Now see what you made me go and do?"

* * *

><p>Selina pulled, tightening the bindings as much as she could on the unconscious woman's wrists. The old piece of extension cord was all that she'd been able to find nearby and she sure as hell wasn't going to tie the redhead up with her whip. That thing had been with her through thick and thin. The cord should hold though. And as far as Selina was concerned the more uncomfortable it was the better.<p>

The bitch had ruined her evening after all. She was happy to return the favor.

Switching tasks, she moved lower, patting down the motionless body for anything that could prove useful. Hell, she still didn't have a clue about the woman's identity. Plus, if there was some money or something all the better.

Oddly, Bruce remained unmoving close to twenty feet away from her looking decidedly uneasy. Something in his posture told her he wasn't sure if he should speak to her or run away. Then she saw the small bottle he was holding in his hand. Seriously?

Beneath her goggles she rolled her eyes. "Relax, moneybags," she offered, "I'm not gonna hurt you."

Her words had little effect, the billionaire still standing there defensively with what had to be about the dumbest looking weapon ever held out in front of him. "But before, you said..."

"Something to keep sleeping beauty here off balance and defensive." Selina stood up and brushed herself off. "Lucky for you you've got someone out there that seems invested in keeping you handsome and breathing." She took a small bow. "Just look at me as your guardian angel for the evening." That seemed to make sense to him judging by the thoughtful look on his face, but the perfume bottle was still being held between them. "Let me put it another way. You saw what I did to her," Selina said, indicating the unconscious form at her feet. "Do you really think _that _would stop me if I was gonna try something?"

That got him. He shrugged, but lowered whatever the hell the liquid was. She bent back down to the redhead, patting down the dress and coat she'd been wearing in search of information. Thus far there hadn't been any ID and it was pretty obvious at this point that Bruce hadn't exactly been straight with her before about the woman's identity.

"So...ummm. You're a...woman?"

Selina cocked her head slightly to the side, confused, and glanced back up at him. The hell? Had he been hit in the head? "Nothing really escapes you does it?" she finally said.

"No, I mean _you're _a woman." He gestured to the black outfit. "The Batman's a woman? I'd never heard that before. That's...well...I mean that's kinda unbelievable."

Selina froze and just stared at him for a moment. Seriously? Okay, so maybe he _had _gotten hurt in the accident. With that kind of delusional thinking that could mean...what? Concussion? A really hard hit to the head? "Fine," she managed, "I'll bite. Why in the _hell _would you think I'm the Batman?"

Her response had the billionaire second guessing himself because he wasn't meeting her gaze. It was weird. Was he putting on the act again or had he really knocked a screw loose in the accident?

"Cause...uh...well, you have the whole ears thing going on," he pointed out, "and you're kinda saving me. Wait...you _are _saving me? Right?"

If possible, her jaw fell further. "You're not serious, are you?"

Bruce shrugged, looking a bit self conscious at the direction the conversation was heading. He'd started it though. "What?" he murmured uncomfortably. "I've never met Batman before. Pretty sure most people haven't."

Selina stood up and crossed her arms. "Well, for one...he's got a cape." Bruce didn't seem completely convinced by that. "I'm betting he doesn't drive an Audi either."

Bruce glanced over in the general direction where the remnants of Brandon Thorne's prized possession lay at the bottom of the bay. "Fair point," he conceded.

"Do you even watch the news? Cause he's been on a time or two."

Bruce shook his head. "Too depressing."

Selina considered that, nodded in understanding and went back to her search. It was kind of strange that a man as powerful as him wouldn't keep apprised of what was going on in his own city, but then again...he'd surprised her plenty of times in the past with other things. Why not this too?

Out of the corner of her eye she caught Bruce taking a few curious but cautious steps closer, reaching up to scratch the back of his head when he got close. She turned her full attention to him just as he turned to look back up the alley. His hands were free. Selina blinked. When had that happened?

"So," Selina said as nonchalantly as possible, "how exactly _did _you manage to get the handcuffs off?"

Bruce turned and looked at her, his eyebrow arching in question. "Excuse me?"

"Handcuffs." She pointed towards his wrists. "Pretty sure you were restrained at one point. Gonna tell me that was a magic trick?"

"Oh." Bruce glanced down at his unbound wrists and massaged one of them. "It helps if you never actually close them," he said. Bruce shrugged and pulled the handcuffs out of his pocket, swinging them around on his index finger. "I never locked them and she never checked. Figured it might be a good idea if I had to try and get away."

Well that was actually kind of...devious. Ballsy too. She already knew he wasn't the spoiled rich kid most people thought he was, but apparently he also had a surprisingly levelheadedness about him when he was under pressure. Very interesting. The man seemed to be positively bursting with hidden talents.

Selina glanced back at the redhead. Hell, may as well be straightforward about it. Didn't look like she was getting any answers from the unconscious woman anytime soon. "So, tell me...what's the deal with the psycho tree hugger over there? You seem to surround yourself with some pretty weird people for a guy that's supposed to be at the top of Gotham's society scene."

Bruce looked at her curiously. "You mean you don't recognize her?" Selina shook her head. Weird. Did that mean she should have? "Her name's Pamela Isley" he said, looking down on the restrained woman. "The cops have been after her. Had her picture all over the place and stuff. I guess it was something to do with those string of murders by Poison Ivy." He shrugged. "Or something like that. Alfred, my butler, recognized her at the party and we decided to try and stall her until the police got there. You know...didn't want anybody to get hurt or anything." He massaged his forehead where an ugly looking bump was already showing. "Of course neither of us realized that I was the reason she was there in the first place. Thanks by the way for everything."

She dismissed his thanks with a wave.

So, he and Alfred had selflessly intercepted a murderer so that nobody else would get hurt? That was...well, that was downright courageous of them. Yet another surprise to this evening and to the man she was still getting to know. That meant the whole act earlier where he'd lied to her about Isley had simply been to protect her then. He _had _used the name Ivy when he'd introduced them. Could he have been trying to warn her or something?

There was something fishy about it though at the same time. Like it was too good to be true. Somehow the pieces fit too neatly and felt like something was being held back. Any further questioning was interrupted by the low drone of distant emergency vehicles though. It was inevitable that they'd show up. One didn't just let Bruce Wayne disappear into the night without doing everything possible to save him.

"Well," she said, standing up fully, "it's been...interesting, but I think that's my cue."

Bruce stared at her. "You're...you're just leaving me with her?"

Selina snickered and looked between Bruce and the nearly comatose woman at their feet. "I'm pretty sure you can take her," she said, smirking back at him.

"But...you saved me. Why would you have to run from the police?"

"Yeah," she said. "You try explaining all this to the cops dressed like I am." Selina indicated the wreckage of the car and Pamela Isley. "Despite this town's apparent love affair with masked vigilantes I find it generally doesn't go over too well with the local law enforcement. As in...they like to arrest you." She headed off for the end of the alley furthest from the Lamborghini. She was going to need transportation to get herself into the city if she wanted to take care of some other business tonight before she headed back to Wayne Manor. With Bruce finally safe she could actually start thinking about her other outstanding issues.

"Besides," she called back over her shoulder to where Bruce silently watched her, "I have another important errand to run tonight."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Hoping to pump out the next two pretty quickly. Already got quite a bit worked out, but we'll see. Things always seem to find ways to throw curveballs at me._


	41. Chapter 41

_So, for those of you who haven't looked at my profile my family is undergoing a bit of an extended medical emergency. Between work, spending time with my family, and helping care for my father in the hospital I don't have a ton of free time at the moment. As such, my stories will likely suffer a bit. While it is cathartic to work on these there's still a lot on my plate that have to come first. I thank you all for your support and understanding.  
><em>

_Reviews only take a second and make things so worthwhile for us authors. So, take a second and let us know what you think. Insight is always welcome and encouraged and they certainly provide additional incentive to get that next chapter out.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>"Alfred? You there?"<p>

Bruce scanned back down the alley in both directions, taking special care to carefully go over the rooftops above. Selina was probably gone, her other errand likely meaning another foray into Alberto Falcone's penthouse. Still, it paid to be careful. Talking to himself wouldn't exactly come across as normal. Though if she figured out who he was really talking to and what was really going on that might be even harder to explain. Or believe.

There was nothing but the distant drone of the police vehicles and the background rumble of the docks several blocks over.

He tried again, touching his ear and trying, "Alfred?"

He didn't especially like that he was stuck here while Selina was out taking on a dangerous situation. Logically he knew she could handle herself. She'd certainly been doing that for a long time now and doing it well. He also couldn't afford to be some kind of overprotective shadow to her. He was working on securing and improving the fabric of an entire city, not functioning as one woman's personal security. Of course, everything couldn't simply be overwritten by mere logic though. Things in this world and between Selina and himself were far, far more complicated than that. The niggling worm of doubt and nerves in his gut made sure to remind him of that fact.

Bruce took a deep, slow breath and watched the darkened rooftops, half hoping to see her.

He needed to be here. He needed to make sure Ivy got into police custody and that Bruce Wayne appeared to be just a helpless victim in tonight's activities. Allaying suspicion was crucial. His identity was the most valuable commodity he had. On top of that, Gordon would want to debrief him too. That would take time. Time he'd rather spend doing other things, but for now that couldn't be helped.

The sirens were definitely getting louder now. Whether they were locked into the transponder for his wrecked car's anti-theft device or simply following someone's emergency call he didn't know, but they were definitely off the freeway and making their way through the grids of warehouses and businesses. He didn't have a lot of time.

"Alfred."

"Master Wayne," came the immediate reply. The older man almost sounded lightly winded. "Are you alright? Do you require medical attention?"

"I'm fine." Bruce rubbed his still sore shoulder, blowing out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The other aches and bruises were beginning to become a bit more obvious as well now that the excitement of the situation was dying down. "Well, more or less," he said. "Nothing some ice can't take care of." Of course that was assuming he didn't have a concussion or something a little more serious. Either way, he'd worry about that later. "The Wraith?"

"Overhead and on station now, sir." He heard a flurry of keyboard strokes as his butler input a string of commands. "Apologies for the tardiness. I was unable to sneak away until a few minutes ago. The officers were being quite...insistent."

"Nothing I'm sure you couldn't take care of. I'm assuming they're still there?"

The typing in the background continued unabated. "Of course, sir. They've assured me that it will be quite some time before they're finished."

"And who'd they leave in charge?"

"Lieutenant Bullock, sir."

Bruce nodded, pursing his lips in thought. Not having Gordon there could be useful. Bullock was a good cop...an honest one. But he could be manipulated in ways that the Commissioner couldn't be. He was tough when faced with a physical challenge or something within his realm of understanding, but when it was something he was unfamiliar with?

"Okay," Bruce said to himself more than his butler, his mind spinning. "Call Lucius and have him wake up the legal department at Wayne Enterprises and Solomon, Tompkins, and Associates. I want them up to date and familiar with the situation. Just in case. We may need them to run some interference."

"Master Wayne?" The confusion in his old friend's voice was unmistakable. There shouldn't be any need for legal representation when it was _his _home that had been invaded and he himself that had been taken hostage.

"Don't worry. It's just for playing a hunch. I'm not in any trouble."

Bruce cupped his ear to try and turned away from the noise to preserve his hearing as a squad car came roaring up alongside the demolished Lamborghini at the other end of the alley, its siren blaring. Its doors popped open immediately while another two cars screamed into place beside it.

"Alfred, listen...I'm gonna have to cut this short. I'm alright though. Don't worry about me. Just make the call and have Lucius see to things. Then put the drone into a holding pattern over Falcone's building and come pick me up. Selina's heading that way now and I want to have an eye on things. I'll talk to the police here and make sure Isley's dealt with, but I wanna get back to the mansion as soon as possible."

There was a slight hesitation on the other end, but ever dutiful his old friend replied shortly. "Of course, Master Wayne. I'll see to it."

Anything further was cut out by the shouts of the first two patrol officers to arrive, their guns out as they came racing forward toward the unscathed billionaire. Bruce plastered on his best scared, grateful smile and raised his hands.

* * *

><p>Two dull thuds sounded mere seconds apart through the heavy steel doors. Not moving, Selina stayed where she was, lying face down on the top of the elevator car, her ear pressed to the emergency hatch separating her from those inside the small room below. Following a brief, strained cough there came a third thump from below.<p>

Selina checked her watch.

The munitions she'd manage to secure were pretty far outside her normal line of equipment and a bit outside her comfort zone. It had required some digging and a little ingenuity to acquire, but they were already paying off. Selina had known that she'd definitely needed to think outside the box what with all the gun toting meatheads wandering around. One lucky finger spasm by any one of them and she could be having a really bad night.

The last time she tried things a little more conventionally, they hadn't gone so well either. Another try that way could prove even worse. So, she'd dropped stealth and secrecy for an all out attempt at getting to her precious information. Doing things this way meant that it was also likely her last opportunity. Using force was generally a thief's worst enemy. It meant the security would never be this lax again.

She checked her watch again before dropping lightly and quietly into the elevator car. With the gas dispersed enough to no longer be effective she went about hiding the unconscious bodies. Dragging them into the elevator was simple enough. As was stopping the car between floors. Climbing back up and squeezing back through the heavy doors...much less so.

The cameras weren't going to be an issue at this point. They'd been dealt with almost a half hour earlier. A small cattle prod and flex-cuffs had a way of doing that. The two technicians she'd found present in the control room were now bound and gagged and unconscious in a storage closet down the hall. It wasn't pretty and it wasn't her usual style, but it sure as hell got the job done.

The entry hall was still well lit, she found, the overhead lights extending into the great room. Selina closed the door, turning the handle to prevent the telltale click of the latch from alerting anyone to her intrusion. Lights meant occupants and with Alberto supposedly out of town that meant guards. She slid over to the nearest wall, pressing herself flat against it. To either side the hallways leading to the guest accommodations were still dark. So, that really only left one place for whoever was here to be then.

The great room before her was large, open, and sprawling, its giant windows wrapping the entire far side of it. Alberto's love of minimalism and the resulting sparsely furnished space didn't leave her a lot of options. Selina had the small mirror out quickly and angled around the corner, giving her a skewed, but unobstructed view of the dining area and kitchen beyond.

There were two of them, both armed, but not in any immediate state of alarm. Hell, one of them was casually leaning on the kitchen counter with his back to her amicably chatting with the the taller, dark haired one. When the other turned to glance out the window at the spectacular views Selina scooted around the corner, staying low as she slunk behind the sprawling couch that wrapped the large sitting area. She'd be good for now, shielded from view with a clear line to the master bedroom's double doors as she put together the next step.

Problem was that clear line was over a wide open space devoid of any cover and the stainless steel appliances, mirrored surfaces, and glass windows would reflect her movement even if the two guards weren't paying attention. Something like that tended to draw the eye. Selina managed a look over the back of the rich, dark leather before glancing the opposite way to the doors. She couldn't make it, not without being detected, not while the two men were still standing. That meant a distraction.

The small digital recorder was a standard part of her kit. Several years ago when she'd thought it up and implemented it it'd felt almost so ridiculous that it was stupid. Now, after working successfully almost a dozen times she just liked to smile and shake her head. The face of that one guy in Denver had been especially gratifying.

Sliding the recorder under the far end of the couch she flicked the power switch and slipped away, moving around the other side while still keeping the furniture between her and the ignorant guards. She had thirty seconds before the first noise, purposefully programming it that way so that whenever she used it she'd be able to reposition herself to the best advantage.

Half a minute later the soft, recorded sound of Isis meowing could be heard clearly in the quiet room.

Despite their conversation both men definitely heard it, their heads snapping towards the unexpected noise as one dropped off the kitchen counter where he'd been sitting. The other actually had his gun out in one smooth motion, keeping it lowered at his side though rather than showing any remarkable degree of alarm.

The taller one cocked his head a little. "Was that..." the recording cycled through it's second, distinctly different mew. "Was that a damn cat?"

The two men looked at each other. "Falcone _has _a cat?"

They'd both rounded the end of the counter now, standing by the raised bar but still on the other side of the dining area. The taller guard rolled his eyes.

"Yeah. Cause he looks like such a cat person." Selina missed the other man's reaction but there was definitely something low and probably vulgar muttered under his breath. "How the hell did a cat get in here anyway? We're supposed to be secure."

The third recorded sound of Isis rang clearly through the quiet space. The men were now on the near side of the dining table, striding cautiously toward the end of the couch. The one with the gun out still thankfully had it casually at his side. Apparently in the Falcone household a mysterious stray cat merited an armed greeting.

As they rounded the couch, Selina mirrored them, scooting around the far side as they navigated the other way. So long as she stayed down she could circle around when they reached the edge where the recorder was playing and take them from behind. Or at least that was the tentative plan.

"So, what the hell do we do with it?" one was asking.

The other man just bobbed his shoulders and shook his head. "I don't know. Let it go downstairs I guess. Thing's probably a stray anyway. Either way it can't stay here."

The fourth sound in the order, the one that sounded like kind of a part yawn, part meow emanated from under the cream cushions. The shorter guard, the one with the weapon out ducked down, crouching down on his knees before going to all fours to try and get a look under the sofa. The second man simply crossed his arms over his chest, scowling.

"_Hey_," the crouched guard managed, his voice muffled somewhat by the way he was pressed up against the couch. "Is that...what the _hell_?" So, he'd found the small digital recorder. Anything further though was cut off when Selina struck.

The cattle prod went into the small of the back of the guard who was still standing, his body going completely rigid almost as soon as the little device began clicking its distinctive sound and pouring electricity into him. Selina always found it kind of funny how tens of thousands of volts coursing through a man could generate such an innocuous sound and so few spasms. He went down in a heap as soon as she pulled the exposed leads back.

The sound may not have been much, but it was enough for a well trained ex-soldier to get the hell out of the way. Without even looking at her the crouched guard was rolling away out of her reach and trying to bring his weapon to bear. Selina had half expected that though and was already following him, digging her claws into his forearm as he swung around. The sudden flash of unexpected pain made him flinch enough that he lost the grip on his semi automatic. That pain also slowed him down for the split second Selina needed. The next fluid movement brought the electrical prongs smashing against the base of his neck as she pressed the activation switch. The light in his eyes was out as he plummeted for the rich carpet face first.

Breathing hard she just stood there for a second surveying the two unconscious men before going to the trouble of binding and gagging them and dragging both out of sight. Five minutes later she was back in Alberto Falcone's bedroom. And like that, there it was again. That same heavy, featureless steel door within the panic room.

Unlike her last attempt nobody interrupted her this time though, giving her sequence generator plenty of time to run the numbers. With a low hiss the great door receded into the wall and out of sight and lights within flickered to life.

The room was small, smaller even than the panic room in which it was contained. More a large secure closet than anything else really. Unlike any closet she'd seen though pretty much everything in it made her night seem a whole lot less like breaking and entering and more like she was taking her life into her hands.

_Holy shit._

That was the overwhelming sentiment that just kind of echoed over and over again inside her head, bouncing back and forth off the walls of her skull.

Two of the walls were lined with racks of weapons. Big ones. She recognized a row of modified AK-47 assault rifles in one alcove, their iconic shape standing out even to her. The rest were equally high tech, advanced, and deadly looking and all of it looked like military grade hardware. Cabinets and shelves above and below the racks held even more weapons, accessories, and gear of various kinds. Selina sucked in a breath. There had to be enough here to fully arm forty or fifty men. This was far, far more than just to outfit the half dozen or more guards that she'd seen around when they were supposedly dating.

The wall facing her was a series of smooth stainless steel cabinets built around a central glass case. Grinning out from that case was a dark, almost black skeletal head, the white of the bared teeth contrasting heavily with the rest of it. It wasn't until a closer inspection that Selina realized the thing was hollow. A mask then?

_Holy shit._

Again that thought went bouncing around. The next sentiment to emerge, quickly following that one, was getting the fuck out of the damn apartment.

This whole thing just opened up all kinds of scary possibilities. Of course, nobody had actually seen Black Mask -at least nobody that had survived to talk about it- but what else could an intricately carved black skull mean? Especially when it could be worn like this one and was being kept in a secret room. Current events weren't exactly her thing, but that didn't mean she hadn't heard the news and rumors. Cop killing, massacring children, blowing up part of a building...the man was capable of practically anything and now she knew his secrets. More than that, she had probably been steadily pissing him off more and more all this time.

_Bruce. _Had she just unknowingly endangered his life? If Alberto was even the least bit jealous or vengeful...

Selina's breathing sped up and she glanced back at the entry into the vault. If it hadn't been before then time was definitely of the essence now. _Fuck. _It was already now or never for this job. If she wanted to keep moving forward and find Holly's killer then she absolutely _had _to see this through no matter who Alberto actually was. She sent another look towards the empty bedroom, praying she still had plenty of time. She hadn't bargained for any of this.

And neither had Bruce.

Hesitantly...and with a much greater sense of urgency she went to work on the lock for the cabinets surrounding the grotesque mask, trying to avoid looking at it even as it seemed to stare right through her.

Fortunately for her blood pressure the latch clicked quickly and she forced open the metal plate before her nerves had any more time to work on her resolve. Selina drew up short at the sight, her forehead furrowing in confusion. Sure there was the expected file cabinets and clear drawers filled with disks, flash drives, and memory backups in front of her, but there was something else. Something very, very unexpected.

Above the electronics and files were small hooks and shelves adorned with an odd assortment of bracelets, necklaces...even several small female watches. The mix was strange. Eclectic. Some were expensive pieces, adorned with jewels and precious metals while others were cheap plastic or altogether fake. Hell, one of the watches wasn't even keeping time, its hands frozen in place. Somehow that just made the scene all the more creepy.

As though a secret room, hidden arsenal, and skeletal mask needed help in that department.

Selina's hand stopped on the handle of the file cabinet as she ran her other one down a row of the baubles. Something was wrong. That much was plainly obvious. There was so much about this that felt...off and it wasn't the guns or the mask or the secret room. Somehow those fit together. They made a kind of absurd sense. This...whatever it was...didn't.

Selina's heart caught in her throat and the blood in her veins froze when her fingers slid across one piece, sending the light bouncing off it. She _knew _that locket. It was a simple, abstract design that vaguely echoed some kind of tribal motif. Hand crafted, she'd come across it years ago at a bazaar in Morocco when she'd been between jobs and had gone traveling. She hadn't seen this particular piece of jewelry in a couple years though and hadn't worn it...since she'd given it away.

The realization was like a punch in the gut. It was Holly's.

She sucked in a strangled breath, nearly gasping for much needed air as the oxygen in her lungs seemed to leave her.

The necklace had been Holly's. One she'd never seen the girl take off once following her gleeful acceptance of the present from Selina. She'd never...ever...taken it off. Not once

Selina couldn't move. Her arms and legs weren't responding to commands as even breathing seemed to become more labored. She reached a shaky hand up and delicately removed it from the hook, turning it over in her hands as a shadow fell across her feet from behind her.

"Well, well...it would seem we have ourselves a visitor. Good evening Selina."

* * *

><p>Bruce was waiting next to the splintered remains of the once gleaming sports car when Alfred drove up. Even now, the police presence was still significant. Almost a dozen squad cars still ringed both ends of the alley, effectively shutting down the street it emptied on as a large flat bed tow truck was maneuvered into position. By a shattered wall divers were preparing to enter the harbor for some reason.<p>

Alfred had to shake his head at the Lamborghini though. Yet another waste of a particularly beautiful piece of machinery.

His employer said one last thing to the police officer standing alongside him before ducking into the Rolls' back seat and closing the door behind him. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair before glancing up to meet Alfred's eyes in the rear view mirror.

"How's the mansion? Still in one piece?"

"For all intents and purposes," he responded. "Though I do wish the investigators would be a little more delicate around some of the more fragile pieces. I _did _just piece the manor back together after all." Bruce supplied a small, polite grin and Alfred pulled away from the curb, leaving the still strobing lights of the gathered vehicles behind them. "And I presume Miss Isley is safely tucked away?"

The younger man settled back into his seat further, letting his head rest against the leather as he closed his eyes. "Yeah. Gordon carted her off in an ambulance fifteen minutes ago with about a dozen squad cars escorting them. They're taking her to the University Hospital to get her checked out before she's booked. I guess Selina worked her over more than I thought. Either way...getting her off the street makes for a good night."

Well that was certainly...interesting. When she hadn't turned up in the aftermath of tonight's fiasco Alfred hadn't known what to make of it. So, much like her beau, she'd gone gallivanting off into the night and done all kinds of miraculous and destructive things. And she'd done all that for _him._

"So that wasn't your handiwork then?" Alfred mused aloud. His delight practically dripped from every word. "How very out of character for her." The knowing way he'd said that had Bruce glaring back at Alfred's reflection. Encouraging the man's relationship could be like pulling teeth sometimes, the billionaire preoccupied with his nightly outings and his city over the woman that was gradually worming her way in under the armor. At this rate Alfred was going to end up needing to physically push his charge into making another step. The man was practically hopeless.

From the backseat Bruce sighed, but didn't lighten his glare. "Alright, I'll admit it was a nice surprise...her saving me like that. She really pushed hard to do it too." The younger man absently glanced out the window. "But, we can't go jumping to conclusions because she did one selfless thing. Alone, it doesn't mean anything. Not yet. She could still be dangerous to us."

Alfred rolled his eyes. _Utterly _hopeless. "Pardon me, Master Wayne, but I think we both know that's a load of rubbish. It means a great deal whether you're willing to admit it or not. That's not something just _anyone _would have done. Not something most anyone _could _have done. She's special."

"Alfred..."

Alfred ignored him as he made a left turn, merging back on one of the main boulevards in the area. "Tell me, have you at least given _some _consideration to telling Miss Kyle the whole truth? Letting her into your inner circle could be good for you. Healthy. She could be the one person on this planet that truly understands what you..."

Bruce held up his hand, the quick motion diverting the driver's eyes to the mirror to see him. "I'm going to stop you right there, Alfred," he said, interrupting his friend mid-sentence. "We've had this talk before. She and I...we don't do things for the same reasons. Selina's reckless and only out for herself. I...I can't let whatever feelings I may be developing for her lead me to do something rash. There's far too much at stake to take anything like that lightly. I know you disagree with me, but for now I think we just continue to keep her in the dark. I'm not saying it'll never happen. Just...just not right now. Things are just too crazy."

Alfred frowned. For a man hell bent on taking danger on at every turn he was remarkably bad about taking chances that risked something other than the physical. Of course, he'd never been an especially emotional person. Not since his parents. And especially not since Rachel. But...still...

"I feel the need to again remind you that she _did _come to your rescue this evening," Alfred said quietly. "Do you really think she's still only out for herself? Especially given what we know about her poor little friend." His eyes returned to the road before him as he swept the stately car up the on-ramp for the return drive on the freeway. "Perhaps she deserves the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps _she's _earned that. Keep in mind, you're obviously not the only one with feelings involved in all this."

That made Bruce pause, staring absently at nothing. Finally, he shook his head.

"Alfred, she's doing what she's doing out of vengeance. I can't allow myself to get mixed up in that."

"And your reasons don't include revenge?"

The car's passenger emphatically shook his head this time. If there'd been one thing the man's training under Ra's al Ghul had provided him besides the physical tools and mental fortitude he needed to be the Batman it was also the direction to get past and channel his one blinding anger. Alfred had seen that almost immediately upon picking him up in that godforsaken airstrip in China. "I passed that stage a long time ago," Bruce said, glancing up to meet Alfred's eyes again in the rear view mirror. "This is about justice. This is about serving a greater good and helping those that are defenseless. This can't be about personal gain. If it is then I'm just a criminal."

"Yet you wouldn't be the man you are, nor where you are today without that pain and that anger that your parents' murder created within you," the older man pointed out. "You wouldn't have the drive you have within you. Sir, Miss Kyle may not do things out of a sense of justice or to right the wrongs done on others, but couldn't that simply be a matter of timing? Master Wayne, you were once a very angry young man too. You needed a path. Perhaps she simply hasn't conquered that stage in her journey yet? Perhaps she's more of a kindred spirit than you give her credit for?" He paused to emphasize his next point. "Perhaps all she needs is someone to show her the way?"

Bruce massaged his temples as though a dull headache was pounding at his head. Whether it was from the long, battering night or the current line of questioning Alfred couldn't tell. "You know I can't take that risk."

"And why not? Why can't you risk something for the chance at a bit of happiness?

The usual, bottled excuses immediately came up. "The safety of those I care about..."

Alfred wasn't having any of it though. Not tonight. He started shaking his head before the second word was even completely out of his mouth. "That can't be your excuse forever, Master Wayne," the older man interrupted. "Maybe it's time to let Lucius and myself worry about ourselves for a bit so that you can worry about your own well-being? Otherwise what's the point of living?"

"Alfred, Rachel died because I was Batman and I was too slow to..."

"_No_," Alfred said immediately, quashing that notion completely.

Deep down he felt Bruce knew Rachel's death wasn't his fault. He was, if nothing else, a supremely realistic, logical man. Still, there was always that rare occasion where the young man voiced the old fears that never seemed to completely disappear. It was something that might always nip at his heels.

"Miss Dawes was murdered by a psychopath, not by you," Alfred continued. "That monster was ready to murder hundreds for a cheap laugh. She certainly didn't deserve it, but she also wasn't in that position because of you." Alfred decided to try a different course, one he hadn't broached in a long time. "Master Wayne, do you honestly think Rachel would want you to torture yourself for the rest of your life over her? Don't you imagine she'd want to see you happy?"

"And my happiness is telling a woman that I'm the Batman?"

The older man shook his head. "Your happiness is in taking the chance that a woman may like you for who you truly are. That's the ideal for anyone, whether they're the Batman or not. And there's a chance you may have found that. Please, don't squander it."

Another deep sigh from the backseat.

"Too risky." Bruce was staring out the windows now at the passing scenery...or what would have been scenery had it not been the middle of the night. What he was truly looking at was anyone's guess. Still, he breathed deeply and rubbed his face tiredly.

"And what in life isn't, sir?" Alfred asked. "But don't you suppose the rewards outweigh the risks this time? Love, after all, _is _risk, Master Wayne. One cannot be without the other."

The eyes snapped back to the rear view mirror. "Jesus, Alfred, who said anything about love? I still barely know the woman. I think there's a long way to go before that word comes into play."

The knowing grin spread over is old face, his eyes crinkling and producing a radiating spiderweb of small wrinkles at their corners. "And yet I've seen the way you look at her." That was met with a glare and an unmistakably tense silence from the car's rider. "Forgive me for saying, but these sound far more like excuses than they do logic. Sir, now I don't presume..."

"Listen, just..." He ran a tired hand over his face and sighed. "Just...did you get a sample of what she put in the sprinkler system before forensics got there?"

And just like that the subject was done. Alfred glanced again in the rear view mirror, but Bruce was once again looking out the window, showing him only his profile. He was tense though, the muscles in his jaw taut as he stared out into the night. The older man sighed and resigned himself to broaching this topic again at some later date.

"Of course, sir."

* * *

><p>"So, Mister Bruce Wayne." The heavy frame of Harvey Bullock came striding down the front steps of the manor's main entry as Bruce stepped out of the Rolls. "You look more or less intact. Nice to see you back in one piece."<p>

Bruce arched his eyebrow. "Less paperwork?"

The scowl turned into something approaching a grin as he chewed on a half smoked cigar. "Something like that." The two began back up toward the giant front doors. "Lieutenant Harvey Bullock, Major Crimes." Bruce shook his meaty hand without stopping. "So, rough night. You had the paramedics check you out yet?"

Bruce nodded, but didn't look over at the man. "Before I came here."

The burly officer pushed his hat back a bit as they walked side by side. "And you understand I'd like to ask you a few questions? I know a lot happened tonight, but we're still trying to piece things together. You know...see the whole picture. Your cooperation would be invaluable."

"Happy to help however I can...Detective?"

"Bullock," he growled out. "And it's Lieutenant actually."

"Of course."

Bruce crossed the disheveled entry. In their haste to retreat from the scene inside the guests had made quite the mess. Smashed wine glasses and bits of food were strewn over the tiled floors with remnants of the decor being swept up by some of the hired party staff. The three men made their way past a white suited forensics team and a couple detectives as they made their way to an alcove off to the side. Bruce dropped tiredly into an overstuffed leather armchair with Bullock taking up station across from him.

"So?" he began, gesturing for the policeman to begin.

"Your butler was the one that called the police. He said it was at your direction?"

"That's right."

"So, you recognized your assailant then?"

Bruce shook his head. "Not me. Alfred did. He came to me when he realized who she was."

Alfred bowed slightly when the head of Major Crimes looked up at him. "I saw her picture on the evening news, sir. I'm very good with faces."

Bullock grunted and jotted something in the notebook he had spread out over his knee. "So, then you'd never met her before tonight? Never seen her in person?"

"Actually," he said, "I had. Once. That was...what?" He trailed off and angled his head to look up at his butler. "What? six months ago? Eight?" Alfred nodded and he returned his attention to Bullock. "You'd have to check with my office to get the exact time. I'm awful with dates." Bruce shrugged. "But, we met at Wayne Enterprises. She set up a meeting to discuss several construction projects we have going on and their potential impact on the environment. She was aggressive, but not hostile. Nothing like tonight."

The Lieutenant frowned, cocking his head to the side as he ran that over in his mind. "How'd she manage a meeting with you? I mean, that can't be easy. Can't imagine any old schmuck can just waltz in off the street and get a piece of your time."

"Ordinarily you'd be right. Miss Isley was representing an environmental watchdog group. The name eludes me. Again, you can check with my secretary." Bruce shrugged again. "She checked out. She was also very persistent. Of course, it wasn't until quite a bit later that we learned she had no actual affiliation with the group."

"And you never reported it?"

"We did," Bruce said, nodding. "To Wayne Enterprises security though. As far as we knew she hadn't done anything wrong or committed any crimes. There was no reason to take it any further. Obviously I'm regretting that now."

"Yeah, obviously." The burly man glanced around the half destroyed room for emphasis. "So," the Lieutenant said, "she targeted you specifically."

Bruce steepled his fingers and leaned back into the soft leather. "So it would seem."

"And do you have any idea why she did all this tonight? I mean, no offense, but you really managed to piss that lady off."

* * *

><p>"Well, well...it would seem we have ourselves a visitor. Good evening Selina."<p>

Selina's eyes went wide and she spun. How had she not heard anyone coming? Had she really been _that _frozen in place, the blood roaring in her ears? Christ, who knows how long she'd even been standing there shaking.

It was Alberto with his blond gorilla Christian at his side. If he was surprised to see her there he wasn't acting like it. As always, he was ever the smug, annoyingly confident, insufferable man that had so turned her off when they'd been supposedly dating. Of course, the well built lunatic to his left with the very large handgun pointed at her probably didn't hurt his confidence levels.

"That's...quite the outfit," he smirked.

Falcone's eyes trailed down to where the small locket dangled from numb fingers. He grinned, displaying the rows of perfectly straight white teeth.

"And I see you've found my little collection," he said, looking past her to the rows of female jewelry, watches, and trinkets lining the hooks and small shelves behind her. "Of course, I've more or less moved past that stage in my life. On to bigger and brighter things as it were. Still," he cocked his head as though remembering a fond memory, "it's nice to keep mementos of happier times. Something to look back on when you need a smile. Wouldn't you agree?"

It was like she was frozen in place, unable to move or breath as the little trinket seemed to pull down on her hand as though it weighed a ton. It was _him._This whole time and it was him. Years of searching and now the bastard was right in front of her. He was the monster that she'd laid awake countless sleepless nights thinking of, plotting the ways she'd make him suffer. Unlike all those nights though, the monster now had a face and a name.

"You..." she managed.

He stepped past her to the trinkets and the distinctive mask, reaching out to touch the glass case. "Me."

"You killed her," she growled. Her hand closed protectively around the necklace into a fist.

He nodded, looking back at her smug and satisfied in his position of power. "I suppose it's pointless to deny it, so...yes. One of many." His eyes got a far off look as though he was thinking back again. "She was _so _beautiful and full of life," he began wistfully. "So innocent and naive. That made it especially enjoyable to break her will and take control. In the end, I think she was even grateful."

"_Her_ name was _Holly_."

Alberto smiled again. "I'm sure it was. But then again, who can remember such things."

His audacity had Selina taking a threatening half step forward. An act that caused Christian to pull the hammer back on the large revolver. That stopped her, but if looks could kill Alberto wouldn't have been long for this world. "You...you're sick, you know that? You're a fucking psychopath! Don't you get it? You tortured and murdered these women for sport and now you blow it off like it was something trivial. Like it's something to laugh about?"

The man's grin never faltered. "And tell me, who was this woman...this...this...?"

"_Holly!_" Selina screamed.

He flashed the insufferable smirk again. "Indeed. And who was this...Holly to you? I wasn't aware she had any family. None she spoke of anyway."

Her knees felt suddenly weak. Almost as though they weren't going to be able to keep her standing for much longer. She shook her head trying to focus. It was all happening so fast. So much to process. Things couldn't end like this though. Not this way. She hadn't come this far to roll over and die. Not Selina Kyle. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood and straightened back up as best she could. It elicited an amused quirking of the lips from Alberto. Beside him Christian remained stone faced.

"She was my friend," Selina whispered. Despite her rage a single tear trailed down her cheek. After a second she raised her head to glare at the two men. "She was my friend." This time it come out stronger and more forceful. "She was my friend and I'm going to kill you you son of a bitch. Slowly."

The man actually had the audacity to laugh at that.

"Fascinating. Truly. Of course, I'm positive you'll try your best," he said before glancing at his compatriot. "I suppose the real question now though is what we do with you. Obviously you know some...things that I'd rather keep secret." Falcone sighed and shrugged as though he were helpless. "You are a beautiful, vivacious woman Selina, but unfortunately as much as you intrigue me steps are going to have to be taken. I'm sorry, truly I am, but you've forced my hand."

"So, what, you're just going to order your little monkey here to put a bullet in me? What's the matter? Afraid to get your hands even a little bit dirty?"

Falcone laughed again at that. "Well, what's the point of paying men to do your killing for you if you don't let them do their job?"

"And what happens when he shoots me and I drop this?" The gas grenade she brandished with a flourish came out of nowhere, startling even the stoic bodyguard. Apparently her usual skills were still sharp despite the shock she was still internally reeling from. Whatever minute distance Christian had let the gun barrel drop evaporated, the weapon instantly leveled back at her head.

She had to hand it to Falcone though. He recovered well, the surprised look going back to his smug grin quickly.

"No, no," he said. "You're not going to do that, Selina." He smiled in a way that sent icy tendrils up her spine. "You don't have it in you. You're a survivor. One who always comes out with her skin intact."

Selina glared at him and bared her teeth. "Way I see it, you're gonna kill me anyway. So, you tell me...what exactly do I have to lose?" She pulled the pin and watched with a certain sense of satisfaction as her one time boyfriend's face drained of color. "Now, both of you...up against the wall."

Alberto actually had the good grace to look alarmed until Christian laughed. Both he and Selina looked at the blond, Falcone's reaction looking a lot more curious than the glare she was currently shooting him. "That's not a frag," he said, gesturing with the gun. "Thin shell and wrong shape. I'm guessing a class two gas grenade." He finally turned to face his boss. "Not lethal force. At most maybe a sedative or something."

Selina smirked, trying to hide the way her stomach had fallen while she twirled the small cylinder in her hand. Alberto's smug smile was back, which meant he believed the man. "Oops." She shrugged. "Worth a try though, right?"

Alberto wasted no time in stepping back towards her. By now she'd managed to stand across from Falcone with his bodyguard to her left, blocking the entrance into the panic room and the bedroom beyond. It also meant her back was to one of the weapons racks. She twirled the grenade again, keeping their attention on it even as another plan materialized.

"Creative," Alberto was saying. He smiled. "Always thinking on your feet. And despite what you may think, we're actually _not _going to kill you. Not yet and not here. No point in making a mess of where I live, right?" Falcone glanced at Christian. "We also don't know exactly what you know or who you may have told. We have to be thorough...you understand. You'll resist, I'm sure, but in the end it won't matter."

The hand Selina had behind her back brushed quietly against the item she was looking for.

"Now, if you go quietly with Christian and cooperate maybe we can make things easy and relatively...civil. I'll understand if you choose not to though."

"Yeah, I'm thinking my answer's gonna be no," Selina said. Her fingers closed around the small, round shape out of view of the two men. She leaned back ever so slightly against the racks to improve her grip. "If you're gonna do this I think I'd prefer making a mess of your carpets." She shrugged. "It's not much, I know, but it's what I've got."

Her one time boyfriend shrugged and nodded to his bodyguard. Surprisingly, the man put away his weapon, tucking it back beneath his jacket before looking back towards her. Apparently she'd underestimated their desire to question her. They _really _wanted to get her out of her still breathing.

Finally some good news.

Her confident grin faltered his slow approach somewhat. "I'll admit that gas grenade was a bit of a longshot," she said, brandishing the offending device with a twirl. "But, I think you'll find this one a bit more convincing."

The grenade in her hand this time _was _a fragmentation model, able to launch deadly shrapnel in a twenty yard radius. Based on the way Christian's face paled slightly he obviously knew that too. Thankfully the idiots hadn't stopped to consider just what exactly was lining the shelves behind her.

Selina didn't waste time though, wanting to keep the two off balance. Without another word she pulled the pin in the grenade one handed and underhanded it right to Christian, leaping after it for the door beyond the bulky man. Unsurprising for a man with his athletic skill he was already in the process of catching the small sphere as Selina went darting by, making a desperate one handed attempt to grab her as she slid under his reach.

Falcone was still standing in his corner flat footed.

The vault door was sliding shut even before she'd made it to the panic room door, her wild flail at the control console meeting pay dirt as the locking mechanism sprang to life. The muted thumps from behind the door told her something about how quickly they'd be able to get the door open. She closed the panic room door as well, emerging back into the empty bedroom.

That was as far as went.

Nearly all of the guards she'd meticulously disabled were sitting or standing beyond the double doors. Silently she skirted to the side, out of their line of sight thankful to have gone unnoticed. The only other way out was the patio and a twenty seven floor plummet to the pavement. She'd scoped out this path for ingress and egress before even hooking up with Alberto and it had proven suitably suicidal to be duly dismissed.

But that didn't mean it couldn't buy her some time. By now Falcone or his goon were probably getting smart enough to try their cell phones in the hopes of reaching the other men. Despite the thick doors, she couldn't count on that not working.

Quickly, Selina jogged to the patio doors and slid them open, the chill night air immediately assaulting her senses. The night was certainly an attractive option. She'd always felt safe under its cover. But she'd be an easy target trying to free climb the smooth facade of the building. Rather than stick around then she dove back across the room and under the giant bed, beating the rush of armed men into the room by seconds.

She could hear the men crashing into the room, cursing loudly, and then make for the open patio door. Several other footfalls moved distinctly toward the wall containing the secret door.

That didn't leave much time. No matter what, she was almost assuredly going to be discovered...and fast. That had all but been assured as soon as she'd been cornered in the vault. That she'd even gotten this far was a damn miracle. All that remained then was a cry for help and the hope that Bruce Wayne had plenty of pull with the Gotham police force and whatever other private security firms he knew. Either way, her life was now in his hands. He'd been so sincere about offering his help all that time ago in some restaurant bathroom. Somehow, she'd always known he'd been deadly serious about that.

As she pulled the phone out of her hip pouch she heard the distinctive tone of Alberto Falcone barking directions as his men began tearing apart the bedroom looking for her.

* * *

><p>"No, no, I assure you, I wasn't trying to be some kind of...of...hero. Pretty sure that's not one of my personality traits. Afraid I'm not exactly the type."<p>

Bullock frowned and glanced down at his notes. "But you just said that you were trying to...stall her?"

"Yeah, but I had no idea she was actually after _me_," Bruce said. "I just figured it'd be exciting, you know? Help catch a killer and all that. Hell, if I'd had any clue she was here specifically to kill me I wouldn't have gotten anywhere near the woman."

From the corner of his eye Bruce saw Alfred jump the tiniest bit, quickly patting his hip pocket before pulling out a cellphone. He turned his back on the others to answer it but never held it up to his ear, instead bowing his head to read the screen. Bruce was about to go back to concentrating on the Lieutenant when his butler's entire body went completely rigid.

"So, basically you're telling me you're just damn lucky that you're not dead right now?"

Bruce wasn't really paying attention anymore, turning his head to more fully see what was going on with his old friend. The blood had drained from his face as he continued to stare at the small screen. Just before Bruce could ask what the problem was though Alfred's eyes shot over towards him. Something about the slightly panicked look had his skin crawling.

"Pardon the interruption, sir." Alfred never looked at Lieutenant Bullock. "I'm afraid Master Wayne has a message that simply cannot wait."

That got Bruce's attention. He didn't quite use their code phrase like the night he'd been on a date with Selina, but it came pretty damn close. Quietly he took the phone from Alfred and opened the text message, noting that the sender had been Selina. His reaction to the note was much the same as the older man's.

_Emergency! Need help ASAP. Falcone is Bl_

He scrolled up to look for more, but there wasn't any. Whatever she'd intended message to say had been cut off and never sent. That meant she'd literally been under duress and cut off while trying to type it. That didn't bode well.

Bruce felt the absent smile he'd been wearing freeze in place as the blood drained away. For several seconds all that he could make out was the beating of his own heart and the steadily ticking grandfather clock in the corner.

Falcone had Selina. The son of the biggest, most ruthless gangster Gotham City had ever known had done something that had concerned her enough that she'd felt the need to scream for help.

Of course, the man was just supposed to be a simple, law-abiding businessman. Supposed to be the antithesis to everything his father and grandfather before him had been. Somehow that was less than reassuring. All along he'd been dubious about the man's motives, but now...

"Mister Wayne?"

Bruce glanced up to see a curious Harvey Bullock leaning toward him.

"I'm sorry," he said hastily, pushing himself up from the leather reading chair he'd taken up station in. "Something's come up. We're gonna have to pick this up again some other time."

Bullock's eyes bulged as he digested that. "Wait, what? Where are you going?"

"Listen..." he paused long enough to have the Lieutenant thinking he'd forgotten his name as he stepped past the couch the other man was sitting on. "...Detective. I've had a long night and I happen to have three painfully gorgeous women waiting for me upstairs. I want to help...really. But I'm sure you understand that I just can't keep them waiting forever." He gave the man his best lecherous grin despite the sick feeling in his gut. "Duty calls."

He started off again towards the back of the house, followed by a hurried and quickly reddening Bullock with Alfred in tow. Despite the way his eyes were slightly bulging from his skull though, apparently the man could at least attempt to remain civil for a bit longer as his trademark gruffness was still being held in check.

Someone must have told him to play nice with Gotham's favorite son. Someone very convincing.

"Mister Wayne, I really, really can't stress enough how much you'd be helping us if you'd just stay and finish things up with us first." Bruce stopped and glanced back at him, allowing him to catch up. "For one," he said, ticking it off on his hand, "it would save you the inconvenience of a trip down to Police Plaza later. _And_it would help us get our heads wrapped around this thing sooner rather than later. You have no idea how invaluable getting all the information in a timely matter can be. Memories change or become less clear, details are forgotten..."

"Officer," he patted the man on the shoulder, a move that quickly caused his face to cloud in repressed anger, "I'd be happy to come down to the precinct. It'd really be no trouble at all. Speak with Alfred here and he'll pencil you in on the calendar."

If he'd been holding something in his fist it'd probably have snapped given the force he was exerting. Bullock gritted his teeth while Bruce again turned away to head for another part of the manor.

"Sir...Mister Wayne, I'd hate to do this, but it's within my abilities to force you to comply." Bruce turned back around partially, letting the man know he had his attention. "Listen, we're under something of a time crunch here and you could technically be classified as a material witness in this case. Now, I don't want to be pushy and I don't want to go to extremes, but I _can _also technically hold you until you fully answer our questions. Being uncooperative would just exacerbate things."

Out of the corner of his eye Bruce saw Alfred dutifully dialing a cell phone.

"There's really no need to be..."

The telltale growl emanated low, deep in the other man's throat. "Okay, I know you've had a long night. I can appreciate that. You're probably not used to this kind of danger and risk what with living behind gilded gates your whole life, but you're gonna have to play ball with us tonight. If you make me get nasty, believe me, I'll get...what's this?"

The cellphone Alfred held out towards him had the man frowning. A second later he raised a questioning eyebrow at the well dressed man.

"Master Wayne's attorneys, sir."

The detective stared at the phone like it was radioactive before glancing back at the butler. "You know he doesn't actually need legal assis..." Something in his mind clicked into place. "Umm...attorneys?"

"Yes," he said, nodding. "He has close to two hundred under his employ." Bullock's eyes went wide as saucers. It was subtle, but his jaw dropped open a bit as well. "They wish to discuss their client's upcoming schedule and when it would be mutually beneficial to meet again with you in the near future."

The stunned police officer actually took a small step back from the butler. Bruce almost couldn't help but smile a little at that. "I'm just gonna..." he pointed towards the far hallway and started heading off for the study. "Be seeing you, Lieutenant," he called back over his shoulder.

He could still hear the large policeman yelling at his faithful servant when he closed the study doors securely and headed for the grand piano.

* * *

><p><em>AN: So, hands up...who knew Falcone was Black Mask? Personally, I don't think it was the greatest secret, but then again I always knew. There were definitely clues if you knew where to look, the biggest of which will be mentioned in the next chapter._


	42. Chapter 42

_I had fun with this one. Hope you guys enjoy.  
><em>

_Reviews only take a second and make things so worthwhile for us authors. So, take a second and let us know what you think. Insight is always welcome and encouraged and they certainly provide additional incentive to get that next chapter out.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>"I know, I know. Look, if she's not there then she's not there."<p>

Bruce crouched lower, flattening himself against the cold aluminum skin of the building. The perch was precarious, little more than an eight inch ledge with a couple of convenient handholds to help keep himself in place. The swirling winds careening through the canyons of glass and concrete weren't helping matters either. It meant that he was doing just about everything one handed.

But it had an unobstructed view into Alberto Falcone's penthouse and bedroom.

Bruce glanced again at the screen on his gauntlet relaying the thermal imaging from the drone circling somewhere overhead. There were still close to a dozen men working diligently to pack up and unload whatever was in the panic room located in the bedroom wall. While there'd been a steady stream of them coming in and out since he'd gotten into position there wasn't an angle to see what it was they were moving and the thermal view wasn't meant for detail. For once his natural curiosity wasn't all that interested though because there was also no sign of Selina.

None of the red-orange, roughly human shaped figures appeared to be restrained or under guard and he and Alfred had searched their way methodically through three floors above and below the penthouse as well as the parking garage. That meant she'd been moved.

Or disposed of.

"Alfred," he said, holding the magnification monocle up to his eye to get another look for himself through the open balcony door, "it's probably too little too late, but lets start running any vehicle that leaves the garage. If we get any matches registered to Falcone maybe they can lead us to Selina."

Almost immediately the view on the tiny LCD screen transitioned to the exit of the subterranean structure, leaving only Bruce to surveil the luxury apartment.

Alberto Falcone was still standing idly by in conversation with his right hand man, a small mountain of humanity whose dossier marked him as an ex-Army Green Beret. There was a lot of empty spaces in the man's background though, a fact that pointed to either covert action or less than lawful activities. Based on his employer, Bruce was willing to bet it was a bit of both. The two had been alternating since his arrival between intensely discussing one thing or another and directing the other bodyguards at their tasks. Unfortunately for Bruce, his auditory devices wouldn't work at this range and he had no bugs in place within the penthouse. Whatever they were talking about wasn't going to help him much.

Bruce adjusted his grip again and settled back as best he could. He needed something. Logically he knew patience was his best option at the moment, but it was coming much harder than usual. It also didn't take a genius to figure out why. Every second he sat idly by could technically be another step closer to Selina's death.

If she wasn't dead already.

After almost a half hour of constant activity though it seemed as though things were actually beginning to get wrapped up, the tall blond man speaking briefly with another of Falcone's guards before nodding and ushering him out. That left just the two men in the room. Bruce moved the magnified view over to watch the adjoining living area. Three men were working a large secure case into the elevator as the final guard jogged up to join them.

Only Falcone and his bodyguard now.

"Give me a quick sweep of the building," he whispered aloud. The view on his forearm screen shifted again, this time flicking back from the telephoto lens to the thermal setup as it zoomed out and orbited the cooler colored building. At this time of night it was easy to pick out Falcone's men. The building was a residential structure and at this hour most of the heat signatures were lying prone and unmoving. The vast majority of residents were asleep. Other than the group in the elevator and an amorous couple on the fifteenth floor, those in motion were all concentrated in the parking garage and appeared to be loading vehicles.

And Alberto Falcone was still in his bedroom with only one guard and an open patio door.

Bruce tucked the monocle back into its compartment on his belt and stood up as best he could given the limited room on the ledge, bracing against the gust of chill air.

"Keep an eye on the elevator, Alfred," he said, giving everything one last critical look. "And let me know if anything changes."

"Of course," the older man returned. "And may I ask what you'll be doing, sir?"

"Me?" he growled, grabbing the top edge of his cape with his one free hand. He'd have to grab the other side after he'd jumped. "I'm just gonna have a chat with Selina's ex-boyfriend."

There was a prolonged pause on the other end of the line. "I really hope you know what you're doing."

That didn't really warrant an answer since Bruce was secretly wondering the same thing. He _knew _he was reacting the way he was partially because of Selina's involvement. It was why personal entanglements and being the Batman didn't mix. Rachel had been the epitome of that. Hell, it was the whole reason he'd assumed an anonymous persona to begin with.

And yet here he found himself again. Feelings getting in the way and clouding things. Making them far less simple than they should be. Bruce sighed. Alfred _was _right of course. It really was pointless denying things. One way or the other they were going to have to be dealt with. He and Selina were going to have to face the truth.

His cape become rigid, catching the warmer updraft along the building face and allowing him to gain altitude as he circled slowly back and forth, rising higher with each pass. The angle had been poor to shoot a line up to the roof. This was the only other option.

Bruce turned back again, rising slowly and inexorably higher into the night.

"Alfred?" he whispered when he'd finally achieved an acceptable height for the dive at the open door. Everything still looked clear.

Alfred echoed his sentiments. "Nothing. You're clear, sir."

Bruce immediately dipped his head and let the leading edge of the cape droop slightly. The increase in speed was immediate, the air spilling from the cape as he dove. He flared it once, righting himself slightly when he was thirty feet from the door before making the final push.

Careening through the door caught both men of guard. The big one was well trained though, reacting quickly to the giant black shape speeding at them. Bruce hit the floor and rolled, coming up on his feet at a dead run and plowing into the ex-soldier. His momentum kept the target off balance, allowing Bruce to body him backwards until they were near the closest bedroom wall. When the back of the blond's skull slammed into the drywall, stunning him momentarily, Bruce was able to spin him, keeping a tight grip on one arm and his hand at the back of the other man's head. This time he put his face into the wall hard enough that the drywall dented and he heard the distinct crunch of bone and cartilage. From there a rear naked choke was child's play, the man putting up only a modicum of resistance before falling unconscious.

Nearby the closed door leading out of the bedroom he was able to trip up Carmine's son as he broke for a quick escape, dragging him to his feet once the large bodyguard was dealt with. Before the man was able to mount some kind of struggle Bruce was smashing his back into an armoire before shoving a forearm into his throat. Slowly he inched his arm up until the shorter, thinner man was on his toes gasping for air.

"_Where _is she?" Bruce growled menacingly.

The man's eyes were wide, but that telltale flicker of alarm was non-existent deep in his irises. Curious. He pushed harder.

"_Where_?" Bruce repeated, inching his face even closer.

Proximity like this usually brought about certain predictable behaviors and reactions in a subject. Stuttering, sweating, elements of shock, panic...they were all expected and acted as indicators, signs that could tell just as much as words if read properly. Falcone was only showing anything akin to them at a surface level. Almost as though he was acting or throwing up a facade for the Batman. For a man that was supposedly cultured and abhorred violence that was shocking.

It also just pissed Bruce off more.

"I...I don't...who? I don't understand." Falcone managed, shaking his head. "She?"

"There was a woman," Bruce hissed in the Batman's raspy voice. He smacked Falcone's head lightly against the wooden piece of furniture. "Kyle. Selina Kyle. I know she was here earlier tonight. What did you do to her?"

"Selina?" Alberto's eyebrows crawled up his forehead. "You think she was here?" He threw a panicked look towards the doors as though looking for help. The lack of perspiration on his forehead or temples told a different story. Bruce increased the pressure against his windpipe. "We...we dated, but I mean...I haven't seen her in like two weeks or something. It's over. _Fuck. _She...she's the one who ended it. She _wasn't _here tonight."

"_You're _lying."

Bruce slammed his armored kneecap into the meat of Falcone's thigh. Hard. It would hurt, but it wouldn't be debilitating. Not yet. Alberto squelched a scream, his leg giving out. If not for the hardened plate at his throat he'd have gone down to the ground. Bruce leaned back in.

"I _know _she was here."

There was a flash of genuine concern across Falcone's face. It was covered up quickly by the flat look of panic that he'd been projecting though. That was a tell. Obviously a wrongdoer wanted their crimes to remain a secret.

Unless you were the Joker.

But he was definitely hiding something and it was definitely something illegal. So much for Gotham's newest prince.

A slight rise in static in his ear alerted Bruce to Alfred's incoming communication a half second before the words emerged. "Men in the elevator, Master Wayne. On their way up. I believe they've been alerted."

Bruce ignored the warning and pressed in harder,

"Don't..." Falcone finally gasped, "...I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know what you want. She _wasn't _here. Not tonight. Please."

Bruce's knee slammed into the exact same spot on his thigh as a moment ago. By now that would mean a deep muscle contusion. Still not debilitating but most definitely painful. This time Alberto howled in pain. Bruce took his time and leaned in close, their noses nearly touching.

"I have video."

The battered man's expression changed instantly. Gone were the false signs of duress, replaced with an almost serene, curious look. There was almost a strange mirth in his eyes now. Whatever shell that _had _been Alberto Falcone was gone.

"So, you're...what? Protecting a convicted criminal?" He asked. Falcone clicked his tongue in his mouth thoughtfully. "That's not really becoming of Gotham's legendary savior."

Bruce's forearm choked off anything further.

"I'm trying to stop a murder," he growled. "And I have _no _problem breaking your body to get the answers I want. You. Won't. Enjoy that."

His knee came up again into the man's thigh. This time there wasn't a reaction by the other man though beyond a grunt of discomfort. Bruce was losing his patience.

"_Where _is she?"

"Sir," Alfred's alarmed voice sounded in Bruce's ear. "Sir, you have movement in the room outside. I read eight men exiting the elevator and heading in your direction."

Bruce spun Alberto away from the armoire he'd been pinning him against, positioning him between himself and the doorway. A fist to his kidney made him drop the small panic button he'd had in the palm of his right hand.

Stupid.

It had been stupid not to search him for some kind of security measures. The penthouse alone was indicative of how paranoid the man was when it came to his safety. Now Bruce was about to pay for that oversight and be significantly outnumbered all in one fell swoop.

Stupid and dangerous.

By the time the door was violently shouldered open the gunmen found flash pellets waiting for them at their feet. Even temporarily blinded though they had enough training not to be firing heedlessly in the close quarters. Good news. Using Falcone as a human shield would only be _so _effective if his own men didn't care about shooting him.

Bruce needed to keep them off balance though. Smoke emitters came next, landing between them as the men blinked away the spots still dotting their vision. The choking cloud of gas wouldn't be completely opaque, but he didn't need it to be. Just enough to keep them guessing.

Eight hostiles was too many though. The blindness would be over soon and the smoke only lasted a short while before dissipating. They were too well trained to go down easily or quickly too, not like the usual cast of gang bangers or hired muscle. These were professionals and they were on their turf, dictating the engagement. He also didn't have the necessary room to maneuver inside a bedroom. Hell, even the lights were on, taking away one of his greatest advantages.

Bruce's jaw tightened. If not fight then it had to be flight. That meant he wasn't going to be able to get his answers.

Bruce tripped Falcone, slamming him hard to the ground before spinning in place and darting for the open balcony door. The last couple of yards would be outside the cover of smoke, but that couldn't be helped at this point.

From behind, clutching his thigh he heard Alberto already screaming, "He's getting away! The patio door!"

Almost immediately shots echoed in the room, bullets whizzing by as the disoriented bodyguards tried to zero in on the murky shapes through the smoke. One shot kicked up a spray of splintered metal in the doorjamb to Bruce's right as he reached his exit, hitting the night air at a sprint and hurdling the steel safety railing before plunging toward the pavement far below.

* * *

><p>"She's still alive."<p>

Bruce climbed the remaining stairs from where the Tumbler sat, reaching the computer stations and his waiting butler.

Alfred arched a questioning eyebrow. Optimism wasn't generally a common personality trait for the young man. In fact, it was right up there with emotional outbursts in terms of rarity. Especially after the rise of the Joker and the nightmare that lunatic had wrought.

"You're certain?" he asked.

The billionaire carelessly discarded his mask on the nearest side table, shedding the gloves and gauntlets too. "I left the cameras in place, but she's already out of the building. He was far too cool and comfortable with the pressure I was putting on him. Falcone already _knew _I wouldn't find her there." The younger man shook his head. "And she isn't dead either. His ego and pride kept him from doing anything too rash. Plus he didn't deny it or try to deflect. He all but acknowledged she's still alive somewhere once I showed my cards."

"Then we...follow him, sir?"

Bruce shook his head and dropped heavily into the swivel chair at his computer station. Almost immediately the screens sprang to life and he called up the live feed from the Wraith. "There's no guarantee he'll go to her. If he's smart he has someone that deals with this kind of thing for him. Best case...he's an egomaniac and _wants _to be there when they try to find out what she knows, but I'm not gonna count on that. Of course, if I've read him right I think he _will_, but I don't want to count on that."

"So, we figure it out for ourselves then? Where she's being held?"

This time the other man nodded. "Subtract every variable and see what we're left with. We get the number of options low enough so that we can go hunting."

Alfred moved to his own bank of monitors and pulled up financial records for the corporation built around Falcone's name, eventually pulling up all his landholdings. The list was a lengthy one, especially in Gotham, but at least there weren't any others north of Atlanta that he could get to easily. Quickly, he went to work removing any properties that were too public or well traveled and earmarking more secluded or obvious places for further scrutiny.

"He's not dragging her to the airport," Bruce said with decisiveness, his voice cutting through the relative silence. "Gotham International has too much security, but let's check the nearest private airfields for any recent charters. This time of night there should only be a couple and we can probably eliminate them fast." He shifted in his seat, pulling up listings and data feeds as he spoke aloud. "Trains are probably no good too. Too public and not a lot of them this late. And...if he wants to get her out of the city then a car will be pretty slow once the morning rush hour sets in. That'll start in a few hours and the bridges will be a mess." Bruce finally glanced over to look at his butler. "What's that leave us with?"

"By sea," Alfred quickly ticked off. "He could make for international waters. It's not especially fast, but it avoids any unwanted scrutiny. That or he's taking her to ground here in the city." Bruce nodded absently while still facing his friend. The silence lasted long enough that Alfred felt the need to voice the unasked question when the young man had trailed off. "Sir?"

Bruce shook his head as if trying to get something out of his head and took a deep breath. A second later he went back to his activities at the computers. "Make sure we grab the list of former Galante properties too. Maybe we can start eliminating those and get the Wraith searching some of the more obvious choices. Get it looking one by one and if I need to head out I can work backwards from the opposite direction."

Alfred nodded and switched his screens over to the drone's interface. The vehicle was still circling far above Falcone's penthouse, but it would be simple enough to program the GPS coordinates of the targets into its flight plan and set it on a predetermined course. He'd have it perform a single circuit of each property and gather everything he could with its cameras and thermal imagers before moving on. Bruce was leaned back in his chair idly, his eyes unfocused again with his brow furrowed when Alfred completed the task. It was the look of a man troubled by something.

When there was no activity and no break in his expression Alfred finally decided to act. "I find talking about it aloud can sometimes lead to the answer you're looking for," he said, jolting Bruce out of his stupor.

Bruce looked uncertainly at Alfred before looking back at the screens and tapping something in slowly. Eventually he settled back again and sighed. "There was...I don't know. Something...something about what I heard Falcone say tonight. I got sidetracked by Lucius and Isley, but there was something...familiar. Like deja vu." The young man shook his head again, his forehead creasing further. "I don't know," he said again. "Alfred, do you have the audio from the party? Maybe hearing it again can jog my memory."

The time it took to track down the timestamped recording took a fairly insignificant amount of time in the end. Though by the time the system search brought it up he'd already eliminated four more Falcone properties from consideration.

Besides the fire suppression system the other improvements made to the manor in its reconstruction -other than those found deep below ground- tended towards additional security features. The measures left most of the grounds, both exterior and interior, under practically unimaginable levels of surveillance. At one point Alfred had thought Bruce merely paranoid...or rather more so than usual.

Now it just seemed prudent. Or forward thinking.

He transferred the link to Bruce's monitors immediately and went back to sifting through the data and checking the progress of the Wraith through the list of targets. Thus far the thermal imaging hadn't turned up much. No unexpected groupings of people or heat blooms in the engine compartments of nearby vehicles. Nothing that warranted any additional scrutiny.

"There," Bruce said, leaning back again and putting down a headset. The sound of Alberto Falcone's voice suddenly filled the cavernous space. After a second the billionaire halted the recording. "That line right there. I feel like I've heard that before, word for word." He shook his head and leaned back in the chair after playing the piece of conversation again. "But...the voice is wrong. Like before it was electronic or being modified the other...time..."

Alfred felt his mind churning as well. Something about it was almost familiar to him as well, but just out of his reach. Like his mind couldn't make the connection. The Wraith completed another slow circuit of a half deserted strip mall and moved on to the next waypoint on its journey.

"Alfred," the other man started, "you're not going to fucking believe this."

In his preoccupied state, Bruce had been apparently very busy, the headset back on. Before Alfred could react to the out of character curse though another voice filled the air, this one heavily distorted and raspy.

"_Simply put...Gotham."_

It was instantly recognizable, the inflection and malice burned into his brain. How he hadn't made the connection immediately started him.

The other recording, the one made of Falcone earlier in the night played again.

"_Simply put...Gotham."_

Both men's eyes met. The recognition went unsaid for a moment. "Falcone _is _Black Mask," Bruce whispered.

Almost immediately that sent both men into a flurry of activity. While Alfred went about pulling up additional information based upon what they knew about the once shadowy figure, Bruce was sifting through more multimedia files from the archives. Several minutes later the rhythmic booming of a machine gun snapped the butler's head back up. His friend was staring intently at the supposed murder attempt by the Riddler on Alberto. Slowly, the younger man began shaking his head.

"It was a setup," he said. He went back and replayed a piece of the video again, leaning forward and staring intently. "The damn thing was a setup. There it is. He was already moving before the bodyguard said anything and he was looking in the direction of the shooter. He knew. It was all just a smokescreen. A way to divert any suspicions from him and put the Galante's under even more scrutiny by the police." Bruce leaned back and scratched at his ear. "I never pieced it together. It was _right _there and I missed it. _Damn _it."

Alfred ordered the Wraith to a new destination before turning to face his young friend, shaking his head. "Nobody saw it, sir. You can't blame yourself for something missed by everyone else as well. It's time to focus on the solution now. We can assign blame and review the missed steps at a later date."

Bruce's head was bent in self disgust as he processed things silently. Alfred paused to watch him. Self pity was uncharacteristic for the billionaire. Usually he managed to be almost brutally decisive no matter what the situation. His ability to distance himself emotionally was something that kept him alive, keeping him from getting too involved. In his line of work, sentimentality at the wrong time could get you killed quickly.

So what was this then?

_Rachel. _

The thought was like a lightning bolt clearing the confusion in his head. Could he feel he'd failed Selina much the same way he sometimes blamed himself for Rachel's fate? It was ludicrous, but it was there. The butler considered rising to more physically reassure the man, but Bruce snapped out of it before he had the chance.

"Sionis," he said, his head snapping up.

Alfred's eyebrow arched. "Sir?"

Bruce was already busily typing. "Sionis Industries. Matakami was owned by it _and _Nigma bought those explosives under their name. Somehow it's a front or a...a shell for Black Mask. A way for him to operate without drawing attention to Falcone's legitimate businesses." He looked over at Alfred. "Let's move our focus to those. They'd be the most likely place for him to have taken her."

The butler was already accessing tax records and financial transactions for the entity before his employer had completed the sentence, quickly compiling a list before beginning to eliminate options.

One, more than the others though seemed to stand out. Without completing the full list he pulled the files up.

"Master Wayne," he began, still reading the records, "...there's a yacht registered to Sionis Industries. The Onyx Falcon hailing out of Barcelona." Alfred opened up a new window looking through the ship's records and personnel manifests. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for. "I have...some fueling records showing that a full complement was ordered earlier this evening." He paused to double check the timing. "It was _after _Miss Kyle's kidnapping."

Bruce was already up and putting the gauntlets back into place over his forearms. Once they were done he went about readying the cape. Alfred quickly rose to assist him while the armored gloves went on.

"You _know _they'll be expecting you, sir. He'll see this coming."

"No," Bruce whispered.

The cowl was pulled down, a tiny snap sounding when it clicked into place as the younger man began crossing over to the steel staircase. He turned partially toward Alfred, his eyes barely slits as he looked at him before subtly shaking his head. The growl that emerged was that of the Batman's gruff, menacing voice.

"He won't see _this _coming."

* * *

><p>The room was large, far larger than any room she'd ever seen on a ship. Hell, if it wasn't for her subtly shifting equilibrium as the boat rocked and the room's lack of windows she'd probably have assumed she was on land in a well appointed library or great room or something. Judging by the small rolls felt in her stomach the waves were small though. That probably meant they hadn't reached the open ocean yet.<p>

Selina hesitated before craning her neck again to scan her surroundings.

The main floor was comprised of a grand sitting area with several overstuffed couches facing one another to form a kind of informal conversation area in the center of the cavernous room. The large flat screen nearby was dark at the moment. A grand piano sat off slightly to one side with a billiards table at the far end just in front of the ornate spiral staircase that extended up into the ceiling. At times the faint clink of the balls could be heard as the boat shifted.

Opposite the stairs, raised several feet above the main level was an office and study where Selina sat restrained in a soft leather armchair. Alberto lounged behind the wide oak desk across from her, ignoring her as he tapped absently at a laptop. At the same level, skirting the perimeter of the room, a narrow walkway provided access to the rows and rows of neatly organized books lining the rooms' walls behind rich polished wood shelves.

There were no windows. Selina had noted that immediately. So probably at or below the waterline then? A room this size, that made sense. That also meant she wouldn't have any convenient places to hop out for a quick getaway once she'd figured out the cuffs.

The one view to the outside world, a large skylight above the central sitting area and covering nearly a quarter of the ceiling showed nothing but darkness. So, she hadn't been out that long. Again, that probably meant they weren't far out to sea yet. Still, that wasn't all that reassuring. How was Bruce supposed to find her if they were heading out to sea? Kinda provided a pretty good place to dump a body too.

Crap.

To her left Alberto set the phone back into its cradle and closed the screen to his computer. Mindlessly he stroked the smooth skull of the twisted mask sitting nearby on the desktop.

"It's funny," he mused softly to no one in particular, "first you and then the Batman looking for you. How he did that I have no idea." Alberto rose to stride closer to Selina, leaning back against the desk as he crossed his arms. "You know, tonight probably couldn't have gone worse for me and yet here we are...safely away and going to erase all traces that this evening even happened." He smirked. "Never let it be said that I can't think on my feet."

Selina's head shot up. "The Batman?"

Falcone nodded. "He broke in less than hour after we'd taken you away. Knocked out Christian and proceeded to accost and interrogate me all about you." The man snorted. "Hell, he even claimed to have proof of your visit."

That grabbed her attention. She had wondered about Alberto's subtle limp earlier when he'd arrived at the docks. So, the Batman had visited him looking for her? Selina looked down, her eyes boring a hole in the floor as her mind churned. What did that mean? The vigilante _had _planted a tracker on her once. Could he have placed more than one? Could he be moving to come after them even now?

Hope sprang eternal it would seem, her heart skipping a beat at that thought. Maybe she wasn't going to have to put all her eggs in one basket after all. The text wasn't much and Bruce, despite her feelings for him, may not have been the most qualified person in whose hands to place your life.

The Batman, however, was a very different story.

"What's the matter, Alberto?" she asked, smiling for the first time since she'd been shoved aboard. "Nervous? You look like you're sweating."

He snorted again. "Hardly. Gotham is receding behind us and no one can link me to this ship." Falcone bent down to put his face close to Selina's. "I'm afraid nobody is coming to save you my dear. Not in time anyway. Selina Kyle will simply disappear from the face of the Earth and I won't even have to bat an eye. The connections have already been severed and any evidence destroyed." He straightened up above her. "Keep in mind this isn't my first time," he said before a smile broke out on his face. "Just ask your little blond friend."

That wiped the smirk off Selina's face.

For several extended moments the two just stared at one another, the only sound within the room the clinking of the billiard balls from the far side of the space.

"But...why?" Selina finally managed, piercing the silence, her voice low and brimming with cold fury. "You haven't fucking told me _why _yet. Why do that? Why go to that trouble? You don't need to go to those kinds of lengths to be with a woman. Not with your looks and money. It just doesn't make any goddamn sense."

"And you don't need those expensive baubles you routinely make off with either," he replied. "Not anymore." Falcone settled in the armchair across from her, smoothly crossing his legs right over left. "No, we do these things for the pleasure we derive from them. For the rush. To know that we _can_." He settled back, clasping his hands debonairly in front of him. "Allow me to tell you a story. You see, there's a big market for prostitution in parts of Europe. Lots of money to be made. Of course, as with any business enterprise you need product and most women tend to turn their noses up at joining the flesh trade. Add to that the difficulty of keeping women obedient and...malleable and I think you can see the inherent problems."

"You're sick," Selina muttered, still staring at him.

It was horrendous how little she'd really known this man. How could that smile and the suave sophistication hide something so deeply unsettling and disgusting and ugly so far beneath the polished surface? How could a man so completely hide the inner truth about who he was from everyone, presenting the world with only what it wanted to see? It was almost frightening how she'd managed to miss seeing this part of Falcone.

But Holly hadn't missed it. She'd gotten to see it up close and personal.

Selina swallowed back the sudden desire to vomit.

Alberto, meanwhile, continued to ignore her. "The Albanians in Paris were the first to really hit on the solution though. It's elegant really." He ticked off a point on his slender fingers. "First, by kidnapping foreigners you lessen those that may be around that could have taken notice of faces, tattoos, and so on because they have fewer links to the community or any potential neighbors. You see, tourists tend to blend into the background quite a bit more than the citizenry. Besides that, the local authorities generally don't push too hard if a couple of vacationers go missing here and there. They're also easily bought off or influenced of course, but that's another topic altogether. From there you also have to control them though. Now obviously they don't want to be there so..."

"Drugs," Selina whispered, the added horror growing in her stomach.

Falcone's face practically glowed in approval. "Go on," he said, beckoning her to continue.

"You addict them to something you control. Something powerful enough that they're subservient and easy to manipulate. Get them hooked and in deep enough and all they're concerned with is their next hit. Their next high. Not their friends, not their families, not even...escape."

"Bravo."

"But that still doesn't explain Holly," she said. "She loved you. You were her _fucking _boyfriend for Christ's sake. What do you call that?"

"It's simple really. She was...a challenge. Now, of course I have men to both shop for and acquire the merchandise we require. At this point that's pretty far beneath me. _But_, I do also like to stay involved in the day to day aspects of my businesses. To stay hands on as it were." Alberto leaned forward in his seat, his elbows resting on his knees as he went on animatedly. "However, I prefer to see if I can bring them in through persuasion rather than force. Now _that _takes talent. _That _is a worthy game. Of course it can be accomplished in multiple ways. For example, for your Holly that simply meant falling in love. Once I had her roped in it was easy. There wasn't anything she wouldn't do...or try...for my approval."

Selina could feel the anger boiling away incessantly within her. Coldly she just kept staring at him though. "She trusted you," she whispered. "She trusted you and you returned her trust by poisoning her, corrupting her, selling her to anyone with money, and eventually...eventually you murdered her. Just threw her away when you were done and she was spent."

Falcone shrugged as though he were admitting to swatting a fly. "Yes."

Selina saw red.

"She was _fucking _innocent," she hissed.

"A trait everyone seems to claim but no one can live up to," Falcone replied coolly. A slow smile began to bloom on his lips. "Besides, by the end I can assure you...she was anything but innocent. In fact..."

Anything further was interrupted by the sudden click of the side door near the piano being pushed open and disgorging Alberto's head of security alongside four of his well armed lackeys. Christian immediately made for a red faced Falcone as he continued to communicate with someone over his handheld radio. The other men spread out through the room, their assault rifles held alertly as they scanned back and forth.

"What's the meaning of this?" Alberto asked as Christian mounted the stairs. He wasn't even trying to hide his displeasure at having been interrupted.

Deep in her stomach that snake of cold, vengeful fury wriggled around some more.

At the same time though Selina couldn't help but smirk at the bandages adorning the musclebound man's nose as well as the dark bruising spreading across his cheeks. She owed one to the Batman for that. Of course, that's _if _she ever made it out of here.

"I apologize for the interruption," the other man replied, reaching the top step before taking a second to wave another two heavily armed and body armor clad men into the room, motioning them over to the side opposite the office flanking the steel staircase. "But post two hasn't checked in."

Alberto's forehead furrowed. "Hasn't checked in? What...we're on a damn boat. How can someone be missing?"

The giant blond shook his head as he raised his radio to again direct the teams throughout the vessel. "Sir, all I know is that Mason hasn't checked in. I've been radioing him for close to three minutes now and there's nothing. We sent Jensen and Scartelli to check it out and now they've gone dark too." Christian paused and sighed. "Sir, I'm afraid we have an intruder."

Now _that _had her ex-boyfriend's attention.

Christian paused, touching his ear as he again listened to something over his earpiece, his demeanor souring even more from the news. After a couple more seconds and one frustratedly barked command he sighed and looked back to his boss.

"They just found Fletcher hanging upside down from the aft superstructure unconscious. Whoever this is they're taking out the sentries one by one. At this rate they're not going to last long."

"Hmmm?" Selina would have tapped her chin had she been able. Instead she had to settle for batting her eyes and smirking at Alberto. "Oh how I wonder who that could be?" He just glared back at her. "Oh," Selina laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, you're in so much trouble now, Alberto. Better get your shit in order cause I'm gonna enjoy this."

In hindsight Selina probably should have expected the slap, but somehow he caught her flat footed with the backhand, staggering her a step before she glared back at him defiantly. If only her hands weren't cuffed. Oh how she'd...

Falcone caught Selina slightly off guard again when he grabbed her arm, wrenching her out of the chair and to her feet as he drew a nickel plated handgun from the small of his back. A momentary spike of fear shot up her spine, but Alberto made no move to use the weapon, keeping it at his side as he kept a tight grip on Selina's bicep with the other, his attention focused on his head of security.

She was standing. Selina was standing with her hands near the hem of her suit where she'd sewn in those tiny tools all those months ago while her captor was otherwise...engaged. She really wasn't going to get a better opportunity. At this point throwing her in a room or cell with a modicum of privacy seemed like a long shot.

Slowly...quietly, she twisted her wrist to get a better angle on the purposely loose thread at her hip.

"You know Christian," Falcone was saying, "you keep telling me that these men of yours are the best of the best. That they could run circles around a small army. Hell, we hired them specifically because of those claims and because that was essentially what they were going to do." He emphasized his next point by waving his weapon around a little bit. "_But_ I have _still _yet to see any definitive proof of that. So, what I need now is for you to impress me. Go and bring me the Batman's head or I'll have yours."

Christian searched his employers face for a second before nodding curtly and jogging off while waving one of the guards over. Falcone turned back to Selina as the two men met in the middle of the room.

And the skylight exploded.

Shattered panes of glass rained down on the room as everyone dove to the side, trying their best to get out from under the falling shards. For several, there was no way to escape the storm, covering their heads with their hands. Somewhere within the chaos Selina had the distinct impression of a black wing diving for the ground before she too had to avoid the maelstrom and lost the brief glimpse she'd managed.

Christian and his lackey at the center of the room apparently weren't as fortuitous as the rest.

The gunman broke the vigilante's dive through the skylight much to the detriment of his body. He lay to the side, groaning and holding both legs and his lower back. Christian, again, didn't fare much better. By the time Selina, Alberto, and the five remaining gunmen were regaining their bearings -the soldiers already leveling their weapons at their target- the blond was out cold as well. The Batman dropped him awkwardly to the ground at his feet as he crouched above him. Then slowly...ever so slowly, the shape rose, his cape masking his body's features as he stood over the two fallen men and coolly scanned the room and the remaining threats.

"Batman."

The cowled head slowly shifted back to the man who'd addressed him, but he made no attempt to speak or move further. His eyes merely bore into Falcone.

The way his jaw was flexed indicated that Alberto was anything but the calm, collected man he appeared to be on the outside. It was a remarkable acting job given what the masked man had just done to his security detail. Still, with five well armed men surrounding him and without any cover, the Batman wasn't exactly the threat he had been moments before. A fact Falcone seemed to be realizing.

Selina frowned and continued working behind her back. What the _hell _was he thinking?

Alberto smiled widely. "Always the flair for the dramatic it would seem," he offered a small bow, "...but welcome nonetheless. We _were _expecting you eventually..." Falcone shrugged, "...perhaps not tonight, but you certainly don't seem to be one to disappoint. So, while I'm glad to see you could make it..." His eyes ran over the shattered glass littering the floor and the bent metal that had once been the multi-faceted skylight's frame, "...there were possibly less...destructive methods available for you to make your entrance. The front door for instance."

"Black Mask," the Batman growled accusingly, his lips seeming to barely move.

To one side Selina could see one of the mercenaries fidgeting nervously as he gripped his rifle. Describing the moment as tense was a bit of an understatement. All it would take was one slip of the finger...

Falcone smiled, scooping up the skeletal carving from the desktop next to him. He peered at it and smiled. "Ah, no point in denying it I suppose. Besides, you found my yacht so the logical conclusion is that you'd already discovered my little secret." Alberto returned his attention back to the Batman. "Truly...quite the investigator it would seem. You know, with one such as yourself I had considered that you would eventually discover my true identity. Of course, you _were _meant to be dead long before that happened...an error in planning on my part apparently." He paused and glanced at two of his soldiers. "Although I do place some of the blame on others as well."

In one smooth move he donned the distinctive mask, covering the smooth skin and sharp features that regularly graced Gotham's newspapers with something wholly unsettling and evil. From beneath its carved surfaces nothing could be seen of the man but a set of sharp, bright eyes peering out from under the heavy brow.

The armored man's eyes across from him narrowed. "In the end all you want is to take over the Gotham underworld? For all your talk you're nothing but a gangster?"

"Amusing," Falcone said, his tone light but booming from under the mask, "but no. This isn't some kind of familial drive or some misguided attempt to live up to the Roman's legacy. I am _nothing _like my father. My father saw nothing but Gotham. Nothing beyond it. He had no...vision. He wasn't a well thought of, respectable...even loved public figure while all the while taking every last shred of power behind the backs of those he pretended to help. No, I have transcended everything my father ever was. Everything he ever did. Carmine was nothing but a thug...crude and blunt. He could never aspire to this. He was never capable of what I am."

The Batman hadn't moved since flattening the blond bane of Selina's existence. "Wearing a mask doesn't make you some mastermind," he said. "You're still just a criminal and a murderer."

"I never claimed to be anything but what I am." Alberto shrugged. "You have to admit though, I _am_...unique. A criminal, yes, but a criminal with a...vision...unlike any other. Someone who also happens to have the means and necessary grit to make their plans a reality." She couldn't see it, but something in his voice told Selina he was smiling out at them. "You see, your assumption is that one pathetic man in a mask can stop me when what you fail to realize is that at this point, no one can."

The Batman didn't even blink. "I've heard that before from men greater than you."

"Indeed."

The caped man's look flickered over to where Selina stood. "The woman comes with me."

"No," Alberto said, taking several defensive steps closer to her and tightening his grip. The pistol in his other hand rose ever so slightly as well. "Miss Kyle won't be going anywhere. And although I see no reason to bow to your demand, it does beg the question, why? What exactly is she to you? First the penthouse and now this. Why come this far and go to this much trouble for her sake?"

That was actually...a very good question. One Selina found herself just as unable to answer as her kidnapper. The Batman was still a total mystery. Still a closed book. Apparently it even extended to his motivations because beyond preserving her life there wasn't much to go on. Of course he'd be here to take down Black Mask, but why make such a big deal over her?

That didn't mean she couldn't still have fun with her ex-boyfriends confusion though. Annoying Alberto was probably one of the few things she still had control of at the moment while she continued working at her restraints.

"Oh, me and the bat go back a long way, Al," she said, her voice dripping in sarcasm. "We shop at the same outlet stores and everything. Everyone knows that."

The smug bastard didn't even have the courtesy to acknowledge her.

"Amusing," he said without even looking at her. Instead he continued to address her would-be rescuer. "And you consider her to be something of a...what? An...innocent? Someone worth saving?" He chuckled darkly. "Believe me, sir, she is nothing of the kind. She is nothing but a criminal. Just like me and just like those you work so very hard to thwart." He scoffed. "Hardly a beacon of nobility or morality."

Selina saw red, straining at her shackles as she pulled and twisted to get at the man. "I. Am. _Nothing_. Like you," she hissed. "You're sick. You're fucking...psychotic."

Falcone simply rolled his eyes. "I am nothing of the sort, I assure you. What this is...what my plans are...is nothing more than battlefield logic at work. It _may_ prove necessary that some die so that other, greater numbers do not, but it _is _simply logic. I am prepared to make those tough decisions for my vision where others aren't. I don't enjoy it, but nor do I shrink from it. It just...is. I will remake the criminal fraternity in this city...shape it into a smoothly operating corporation. One that operates unhindered. One that stays outside public scrutiny, but also does away with the needless bloodshed and violence rampant in this place. It will be a new Gotham. One run by me."

Selina choked back a laugh. "Right, cause that'll make me take it back. No, you're not sick at all." Under her breath she muttered, "And here I thought you were trying _not _to be your father?"

"_No!_" He turned a murderous look at Selina before returning to the armored man standing alone in the middle of the parlor. "_Hah_," he scoffed. "Carmine Falcone. My entire life people have been comparing me to that man when the truth is I eclipsed him long ago." He ticked his fingers off one at a time. "I control London, Spain, Italy...my empire spans the continent of Europe and yet I am a mere shadow. A whisper that no one can even prove exists. This..." he said, gesturing at wall where somewhere beyond the lights of Gotham City glided by in the darkness, "...Gotham is nothing more than my beachhead into America. It's time for the empire to expand and this is where that begins."

The Batman still stood defiantly still over the two unconscious bodies, his hand somewhere beneath his cape. "This ends tonight and Kyle leaves with me," he growled.

Alberto cocked his head to the side for a second. After a second he chuckled briefly. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to pardon me if I see no compelling reason to hand her over." He took several more steps closer to Selina, this time moving slightly behind her. She could feel the barrel of the gun brush against her ribcage. "I'm afraid you're in no position to bargain, Batman. Truthfully, you're in no position to do much of anything at this point. No, make no mistake, I _am _in control here and I promise you, I will be remaining in control. Even the assumption that you will be leaving this place alive is quite a leap on your part. No, instead I offer you this..."

"This. Is. _Not! _A negotiation."

Selina had never heard _that _voice before. It gave her goosebumps and frightened the hell out of her at the same time. It was a tone that made promises, not empty threats. Apparently it'd also had a bit of an effect on the gunmen stationed around the room, prompting them to tighten their grips on their weapons as they flicked the safeties off.

Falcone just stared at him for a few silent, tension filled moments. "Indeed," he finally said.

The Batman took a step forward. The first movement he'd made since coming through the skylight. The already skittish soldiers covering him tightened their finger on their triggers. "I'm leaving here with her and you _will _put yourself at the mercy of Gotham."

The skeletal mask inclined to the side again as he studied the Batman, the eyes narrowing behind the eye holes. He stayed quiet, considering the other man and his request. "You know," he finally said, "I expected better of you. Something...I don't know...more. You...come into _my_ home, assault _my_ employees, and then attempt to make demands of _me_?" Falcone shook his head angrily. "I am not some common thug that you can bully and intimidate and I will _not _be cowed by idle threats from one such as yourself." He let Selina go and crossed his arms over his chest, standing tall and defiant. "Batman, you'll find that I don't lose. I _will _raze Gotham to the ground and walk away unscathed rather than allow you to claim victory."

"And _you'll _find that I don't bluff," the Batman promised. "You stop tonight or I tear your empire down around you piece by piece."

Black Mask glanced around the room, taking a second to stop at each well armed, well trained man zeroing a weapon on the armored vigilante. The motion's purpose was obvious. He had the upper hand and he knew it. "I find your argument a bit...less than convincing. I'm sorry, but you shouldn't have come here tonight, Batman. That was a very poor decision on your part."

A corner twitched on the outnumbered man's lips. It was barely more than that, but it was enough. That had been actual emotion. Confidence or humor or...something.

Was the Batman...was he fucking smiling?

"I expected you to say that," he murmured.

Alberto scoffed. "And yet still you came."

There was that twitch at the corner of his lip again. "I didn't come without a plan."

Falcone rolled his eyes. "Oh, of course." He turned to the nearest gunman. "This is tedious. Will somebody please just shoot..."

"Fire."

That paused the masked kingpin. Silently he again considered the vigilante, half turned toward issuing the fatal command to his thug. "What?" he finally asked.

The Batman just stood quietly still, staring up at him.

Falcone cocked his head and seemed like he was about to repeat himself when the static of the ship's intercom hissed overhead.

"_Radar contact, five hundred yards!_" shouted a disembodied voice over the ship's speaker system. "_Contact on intercept course and moving fast._" A brief pause had Alberto glancing up at the ceiling as though he could see the man on the other end of the intercom. "_Jesus!_" he shouted suddenly. "_Missile! Missile inbound! Brace for impact!_"

Falcone had just enough time to look back at the Batman, his eyes wide in shock, before it felt like the entire ship slammed into something, a deafening roar overtaking Selina's ears as the entire space plunged into darkness and she fought to maintain her footing. Already the yacht was listing noticeably to its side, smoke seeping into the room at the far side when the emergency lighting flickered on, red light casting an eerie tinge and deep shadows across the space.

To her right Falcone was still too stunned to act or speak.

But the Batman was already moving.

* * *

><p><em>AN: The "This is not a negotiation" line was a direct result of a similar line in Arkham City. In it, Batman says something similar to Mr. Freeze. Awesome lined delivered by THE Batman Kevin Conroy. Let's put it this way...after being told that in THAT manner...you just give the dude what he wants. Don't argue or fight. You've already lost. Nuff said. _

_Very happy that this didn't take too long to get out. Already looking forward to the next chapter too. Ought to be fun.  
><em>


	43. Chapter 43

_Well another crazy, stress filled time in my life. Hopefully things start calming down soon. That would certainly be a welcome change. I'd like to thank you all for your kind words of support and the thrill I get from knowing you're enjoying something I've enjoyed putting so much time and effort in.  
><em>

_Reviews only take a second and make things so worthwhile for us authors. So, take a second and let us know what you think. Insight is always welcome and encouraged and they certainly provide additional incentive to get that next chapter out.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The first gunman went down across the room, being swallowed into the shadows with the Batman on top of him even as his finger squeezed reactively on his trigger, sending a strobing flash of gunfire knifing through the darkened, red-hued space.<p>

Then it was quiet. Almost deathly so. The only sound coming from the nervous breathing of the remaining guards and the groans and cracks of a slowly dying ship. The distant gurgle of water was especially telling.

Two of the other mercenaries came crashing over the furniture to their colleagues aid, the high powered flashlights attached to the barrels of their automatic weapons stabbing through the darkness as they swept them back and forth. They eventually found their friend, but that was all they found.

Selina meanwhile worked furiously at the plastic flex cuffs binding her hands behind her back with the small razor blade she'd managed to remove from her suit's lining. It made for an awkward angle and she was straining her wrists and fingers as far as they'd go, but the sharp metal _had _found bite in the material. Only a matter of time now.

She tucked herself further under the desk and back into the darkness. Alberto wasn't a complete idiot. He'd snap out of his shock eventually if he hadn't already. Then he'd probably be looking for her. A few more minutes and she'd welcome that confrontation.

A groan of wood and steel accompanied by a distant, reverberating crash broke her concentration and had her looking at the ceiling, listening intently. More, similar noises soon followed.

The ship was sinking. At this point that much was obvious. The deck was a good ten degrees off horizontal and it felt as though the bow was slowly starting to rise behind her. Selina shook her head, smirking and went back to her restraints. The beautiful caped bastard had actually blown the whole damned thing up around them. Now why hadn't she thought of that?

Warning klaxons could be heard in the background over another burst of weapons fire and if she really strained she thought she could almost make out the sound of rushing water growing louder. That certainly didn't hurt her motivation levels any.

Two sets of the red tinged emergency lights went out almost simultaneously along one bulkhead, tiny metal projectiles clinking lightly in the inky darkness that descended after the bulbs shattered. Three bright beams of light immediately swung towards the sound, their glare illuminating nothing but the rows of bookcases lining the wall before they moved forward.

Selina hadn't initially even noticed another enemy go missing, the number of flashlights down to three whereas there'd been four only a few seconds earlier.

Jesus, there hadn't even been a sound.

Another groan of stressed metal echoed through the hull followed closely by a snapping sound and a final, definitive crack. Even in the darkness she could see the water begin to spray into the room through a seam in the wall, coming in under pressure and coating the furniture ten feet away. It wasn't excessive, but it didn't necessarily need to be. There was probably a whole lot more already pouring in somewhere else.

A flash of movement by the far corner of the room drew Selina's eye as a shapeless void seemed to dart along the wall.

"_Contact front!"_

Apparently she hadn't been the only one drawn by the motion. A burst of weapons fire from two of the goons cracked the air, their bullets spattering the wood walls and shredding several rows of well worn, leather books before they let up. The third man was already converging on the area, his beam swinging wildly as he crashed through the now sloping room, hurdling a low table in the darkness and starting up a small set of stairs built into the bulkhead. His mates were close on his heels, their rifles searching the shadows.

As Selina expected, they found nothing. Well, nothing until they managed to bump into their lost compatriot a few seconds later, one of their beams just happening to sweep over his dangling form. He was hanging by his feet from one of the wood accent carvings protruding from the ceiling, his arms dangling limply an inch or two from the deck. She expected shock...maybe fear to present itself. Having your buddy disappear from your side only to turn up upside down and unconscious certainly lent itself to at least a bit of nervousness. Far from being rattled though the others set to covering each other calmly as one cut the unconscious man down, working quietly to get him alert again while carefully scanning the blackness. Very, very slowly the thug began shaking his head, trying to regain his faculties.

Strange. Selina angled her head to get a better look through the gaps in the woodwork that afforded her a decent enough view of the room. She'd witnessed the Batman using drugs and other, more brutal means on his opponents before so that they didn't become a recurring problem later on. So why not now? What made tonight different that he'd risk allowing a threat back on to the metaphorical chessboard?

There were no weapons though. Everything up to and including the gunman's utility knife were nowhere to be found as they sat him up.

Sparks dropped from some burnt wiring in the roof as the cuffs finally gave way behind her, breaking with little more than a strained snap as the notch she'd managed to cut did its job. Selina massaged her freed wrists gently and slid back out from the cover of the desk, taking care to stay in the darkness it cast. The emergency lighting was a bit brighter here than in the larger, more open parts of the salon. She'd still need to be careful or some trigger happy thug would mistake her for the Batman.

Or they wouldn't and they'd _still _shoot her. At this point she didn't think Alberto would shed many tears over that.

Selina slid along, staying low to the ground and keeping the leather chairs she'd been seated in earlier between herself and the quiet game of cat and mouse going on less than thirty feet away.

The tools of her trade, loaded into her harness and pouches, were laying on an end table at yet another sitting area across a small, open gap in the furnishings from her where Falcone had discarded them. As much as she wanted Alberto those came first. She'd need her gadgets if she expected to be of much good. Her claws had gone unnoticed somehow, but that was about it. She'd need more. These were armed men. Armed men that were already alert and under attack. Once she was back in possession of them though they'd be followed closely by the prick's severed head.

A quick look revealed little. The Batman may as well have been a ghost. She wasn't going to be able to find him. Not unless he wanted to be found. His hunters...or his prey, she wasn't sure which was more applicable...were easier to pick out, their flashlights and dimly lit forms moving as a cohesive unit. But, there was one glaring thing missing.

Apparently, the one hitch in her master scheme was that she still wasn't sure where Alberto actually was. That could prove...problematic.

When the timing was right, Selina ducked her head and darted out of cover.

* * *

><p>Bruce pulled the remaining receiver pin and separated the two halves of the assault rifle's shell, setting both pieces and the detached barrel assembly down quietly in the red-tinged darkness before sliding it all under the couch he was behind.<p>

"You certainly seemed to have stirred up a hornet's nest, sir."

He didn't need to check the Wraith's feeds to know that was a colossal understatement. The yacht was going down. Fast. That _had _been the plan after all. An armor piercing warhead striking below the waterline towards the engine compartments on a ship like this tended to pretty much break the thing's spine. At that point its fate was inevitable.

Thankfully, taking out the engines at the same time had also killed most of the electrical generators. The darkness was a nice security blanket for him despite the dim emergency lighting. If it came to it those could be dealt with too though. It afforded him plenty of ways to operate despite the remaining guns searching for him.

"Thermals show the engine compartment is definitely cooling," his butler's voice said quietly in Bruce's ear. "Hard to tell, but I'd say it's mostly submerged at this point. Remaining crew are mostly topside readying escape boats and the like. Still no call for help though."

Not surprising that the call for help hadn't been put out to the harbor patrol or the authorities. This wasn't exactly a vessel that wanted that kind of scrutiny or assistance. No, they'd evacuate on their own and make for safety or some kind of secure haven where they could re-evaluate their options. Of course, despite the hour a ship this size sinking out in the harbor wasn't going to go unnoticed forever. Eventually somebody would make the call.

But for now the distraction was in place and had thus far succeeded. Now Bruce just needed to get everyone out without having a bunch of people dying in the process. Unless there was no other alternative having a ship full of people -even murderers- drown was unacceptable. For now that meant no tranquilizers and no attacks that could account for long term unconsciousness. Disarmament with some physical and mental prodding would have to do. It made things tougher, but so far nothing he couldn't handle.

Bruce risked a glance over the back of the couch. The three security personnel were sticking fairly close together now, their lights moving in unison to scan overlapping arcs around them as they kept at least one bulkhead to their backs. For now they were moving away from him though. Across from him, at the center of the room Christian was beginning to stir with the injured guard beside him still writhing in discomfort. He was unarmed, but could still cause problems. His boss was nowhere to be seen.

And there was no sign of Selina.

She hadn't been captured though. That much he was pretty sure of. If Falcone did anything it would be to run for his life or get reinforcements, not try and exact revenge on his own. He was overconfident and full of himself, but he wasn't stupid.

Of course, Bruce already knew what Selina would do if she got loose. He'd managed to hear a lot of the conversation she'd had with Falcone and could easily guess what kind of state of mind _that _put her in. With Holly's killer this close she wasn't going to be especially rational and was liable to get herself killed in the process if things went badly. He'd need to take care to make sure that didn't happen. Hell, if he wasn't careful she could even get him killed if she was more hell bent on revenge than she was on avoiding drowning. The missile attack had been his way of destabilizing Falcone's position of power and rescuing Selina, not a way for any of them to commit suicide.

To Bruce's left, up on the slightly raised catwalk the guards had discovered the one he'd left dangling. He rounded the edge and skirted the well of moonlight coming in through the ceiling as he headed for the upper level towards the bow and the study where Selina had been before freezing in place.

Christian was moving now, awkwardly getting to his feet and trying to support the second man. He'd likely take control of this soon enough. Maybe even call in more men or something. Hopefully the sinking ship would discourage that though. Hopefully.

Something foreign nudged against his foot, surrounding and swallowing it after a second as it radiated a penetrating coldness. He didn't need to look down to know what it was but he did anyway. Seawater surrounded his back foot, moving around his boot and slowly rising and stretching across the planked floorboards ahead of him. Bruce glanced back at the end of the room, where the staircase led up and two doors flanking the bottom led further into the ship's aft section.

The bottom three steps were covered in water, the moving mass reflecting the red emergency lights as it lapped the tiniest bit against the walls and continued to rise. By now the vessel's bow had risen even more as the additional weight pouring into the engine rooms pulled it under.

This was going to make hiding harder. Bruce slipped forward, cognizant of the fact that he was now leaving wet footprints behind marking his path and edged closer to the raised fore section of the room. He'd either have to take out more lights or risk darting up the stairs in full view of everyone. Both presented danger. Both were bound to attract attention.

Bruce glanced back again at the shifting beams of light across the room.

Most people would have run for their lives by now. The threat of being trapped within a sinking ship alongside the very real chance of drowning generally made for pretty powerful motivators. Except Falcone's men seemed to have missed that particular memo. They were still steadfastly holding their ground despite the darkness, despite their disappearing friends, and despite the flooding yacht. Again he was reminded that these were not the general, run-of-the-mill thugs he dealt with on a nightly basis. Motivation, mental fortitude, and training made a hell of a lot of difference.

Right when Bruce turned back Selina darted out from behind an easy chair, making for a richly furnished seating area on the starboard side. What she was after he didn't know, but she lithely skirted across the floor, staying low and fast.

With the other guards' attention directed elsewhere it also would have worked if not for the timing of Falcone's reappearance.

A panel she was passing in the middle of the wall slid open, revealing an open pressure door and Alberto, still wearing the black skull over his head fingering one of his two handguns. Selina froze mid stride and altered her course, her body coiling to strike as she snarled at the man who'd slaughtered her friend.

Her posture changed abruptly though when two gunmen stepped up on either side of Falcone and leveled their weapons at her.

* * *

><p>"<em>Oh shit<em>."

She'd already been picturing her claws digging into all that was Alberto Falcone when she noticed the guns. Two of them. Big ones. Pointed right at her. Then her legs were carrying her without conscious thought, her reactions driving them and having her diving out of the way as her two pursuers jumped around the corner after her. Their bullets slammed into the table she upturned in her retreat, her arm darting out to grab the belt and harness nearby and being greeted by another burst of fire. She pressed herself up against the thick wood, praying it would be enough to continue holding back the projectiles.

"Shit, shit, _shit_," she hissed. Her eyes darted around, looking for any opportunity to get herself out of this as she dug into her pouches. Not much presented itself. At least nothing that didn't involve getting herself shot. "Come on, come on..."

And those two assholes were undoubtedly headed her way right now. She didn't have much time to do...something. She couldn't repel or return firepower like that. Not when there were two of them and they had automatic rifles. _Fuck_, why didn't she keep guns in her kit?

"Ah, Selina," Alberto crowed from the other side of the table. From his tone it was pretty obvious he was enjoying himself immensely. _Fuck _how that made her blood boil. "Ever the survivor I see. An admirable quality. Really...it's something so rare in people these days. Something you and I share." He paused and she could make out a footfall farther to her right. They were spreading out around her. Selina palmed one of the gas grenades she'd used earlier in the evening. It would probably knock her out too, but at least she wouldn't be dead and the Batman would still have a chance to save her. "But," he continued, "you really may as well come out and make things less...painful on yourself. There's no reason this can't still be civilized."

She wanted to chop something off and shove it down his throat. She really did. She wouldn't even be all that choosy on what it was so long as she got to watch his face. Unfortunately that desire didn't help Selina at the moment.

She stuck her head over the top of the splintered and cratered wood, taking in the shiny pistol the Black Mask leveled at her and the two grim faced soldiers several paces to either side. Behind them, down the stairs to the flooding lower level were the other men. Christian was helping one colleague limp along as the other three, supporting a fourth, followed behind, their weapons still searching the darkness as they approached the stairs.

And just where the hell _was _the Batman? Some rescue this was turning out to...

"Your friend will be dealt with soon enough. One way or the other." He cocked the hammer back on one of his two chrome plated pistols. "For now..."

Several chords on the piano screeched out grotesquely as the face of the final man in the little procession of guards was hammered into the keyboard. The Batman stepped forward into the next man who was spinning to face him with his weapon raised. The vigilante brought the back of his cowled head up hard into the man's nose before he spun him into yet another gunman, striding forward purposefully.

From the raised study three heads whipped around at the sound to view the sudden assault. Selina's didn't. Instead, she went right for the closest gunman as he began spinning back, realizing his mistake before she'd even covered half the distance. So, Selina dove, barreling into his legs and sending him toppling over. By now Alberto and the other fresh faced bodyguard were also turning to find her. She lashed out with one booted foot, driving the steel toe into Falcone's shin and sending him to the floor as one of his pistols went off in surprise, sending a bullet whizzing past her exposed head.

Selina couldn't afford to be distracted though.

Bullets tore through the space she'd been occupying a split second before as she spun away from the line of fire, trying to move laterally but still close the distance with her attacker. If she couldn't get close to him then she couldn't damn well disarm him after all. But outrunning the end of a gun barrel was anything but simple. Right when the barrel seemed as though it might catch up with her though, the projectiles stitching a line ever closer to her, it stopped abruptly, the thug howling in pain as three black, bat shaped projectiles were suddenly embedded in his forearm.

Selina wasted no time in smashing the heel of her hand upward into his chin, only to then drive her knee into his kidney when he didn't go down from the first blow. One final kick to the ribs with the hardened toe of her boot left him in enough pain to go back to her real quarry.

Alberto was lunging for one of his two dropped pistols when she pounced on him grinding a knee into his spine while she gripped his shoulder, digging all ten nails in as far as they would go. She could feel his muscles tense in pain, the nerves alive as she pressed down with the claws, rotating them a bit to open the wounds she'd wrought. Then she was flipping him on his back, crouching in and pinning his arms with her knees as she carved a line into the wooden black skull with her thumb. Slowly she leaned forward, glaring down into the dark eyes beneath the mask. Her thumb continued its slow trek, leaving a gouge in the polished material as it moved slowly down his cheek for the exposed skin of Alberto's neck.

Power. Selina could practically feel it flowing through her. Time froze and distractions drifted away silently. Nothing else mattered. Not the Batman mercilessly and expertly taking apart Falcone's boys less than fifteen feet away and not the gurgling water rising at the other end of the room. She had him. She had Holly's killer in her hands. Payback was finally, finally going to be hers.

"You know," she said, drawing her finger down his throat with just enough pressure to draw a narrow bead of blood, "I think it's about time we had a chat where you weren't the one with the gun." Her claw dug harder, an action that had his muscles tensing in pain. Good. "So, how's it feel to be on the receiving end for once?"

He just stared up at her with defiant eyes. Her nails dug deeper. She could almost pretend to feel the rhythmic thump of his pulse through her fingers.

"I think I'm gonna enjoy cutting you up into little...tiny...pieces." Each pause was punctuated by another sharp claw sinking into soft flesh.

"And I think you lost count."

A gun barrel being pressed to your head is a pretty unmistakable thing. In fact, there's really nothing quite like it to put a damper on whatever emotions you're feeling and make you go perfectly and completely still. Some people's lives would probably even flash before their eyes. Not so much for Selina.

Her eyes instinctively flickered over to where the one guard was gritting his teeth and trying to sit back up while holding his obviously hurting ribs. There'd been two of them though, a fact she'd completely forgotten in her drive to punish Alberto. She'd taken out the other one's legs first before moving on to the rest but had never come back to finish the job or even disarm him.

Shit.

Alberto pushed her off of him roughly, reaching back while she sat motionless and backhanding her across the cheek. She jerked her head back and glared at him, glancing a second later at the barrel of the rifle hovering near her temple. _Fuck_had she screwed up. She'd screwed up and now the bastard was not just gonna get away with everything, but put her down like some kind of annoying little animal in the process.

Falcone clambered to his feet, touching his neck gently and inspecting his blood stained fingers before looking back at her. "It's almost tragic, isn't it?" he said, smiling almost apologetically. Then he glanced at his bodyguard and smiled. "Kill her."

If they thought she'd go down nice easy they were about to learn a lesson. Sure, she might get shot...maybe even fatally, but she'd be damned if one of them didn't go down with her.

And she knew exactly which one she'd be choosing.

Things seemed to move in slow motion, the man's finger squeezing down on the trigger even as she began coiling her legs to propel herself at Black Mask. The only thing that wasn't moving in slow motion was the armored forearm that slammed down on the end of the gun, jarring it from the man's hands. Falcone was already running away by the time the Batman stepped between Selina and the lone gunman, shrugging away a body punch and lowering his shoulder into the man's torso to send him flying.

"_Move_," he growled, turning back to Selina and hauling her to her feet. Then he was running, leaping down the stairs and into the frigid water as she followed. The bullets began flying around them almost immediately, kicking up small geysers to either side of them or digging into the soggy furniture as they moved past.

The Batman was already launching himself for the low wall that separated the main sitting area from an ornate wet bar when the volume of fire began concentrating on her. Selina didn't waste time in following him over, the bottles of what was assuredly expensive liquor exploding above her as the firing weapons attempted to trail her, digging into the polished wood when she disappeared from sight.

Well, this was fantastic. She went from being stuck in one place to being stuck in another. At least this time she company though and at least the Batman might have a few tricks up his sleeve that she didn't. He _had _done quite a number on the boat after all.

"So," Selina said nonchalantly, resting casually against the partition as bullets pounded into its opposite side, "you blew up the ship."

The Batman crouched in the water beside her, seeming to merge slightly into the all consuming darkness even though he was only a foot or so away. Silently he eyed her but said nothing. Not that she expected some kind of witty retort.

As though through some kind of divine karma another low, shaking crack began in the ship. This one seemed to extend down the entire vessel though, beginning somewhere in the bow before lancing down the ceiling above them. Cracks knifed across the surface, the plaster falling in places as the entire yacht seemed to groan. Then, finally, something loud snapped deep below them and the entire ship shuddered. Selina simply turned to the Batman and arched a questioning eyebrow.

"Keel snapped," he said matter-of-factly. "The rear just separated from the rest of the ship."

Her other eyebrow joined the first one high on her forehead. The damn ship had just broken in two? From where she sat she could clearly see the rear of the room where the water had already been flowing in. Although the bow behind her seemed to be dropping now that the weight of the waterlogged engine room was no longer dragging it down she could tell the water was coming in faster now, frothy and roiling near the spiral staircase.

Crap.

"Don't get me wrong," Selina finally quipped while trying to steal a slightly worried glance over their little bastion of safety, "I appreciate the gesture and all, but that may have been a little over the top." Bullets tore into the low wall, driving her back down. "Even for you."

Christian was barking orders to the men now, organizing them

"So, does there happen to be anything resembling a plan or..." The Batman just held up a hand, cutting her off as he concentrated, holding one hand to his ear.

"_Yes_, _now!_" Christian was calling into his radio, punctuating his commands by squeezing off a couple rounds towards Selina and her dark rescuer. Beside him the Black Mask stood silently by, watching the two of them. "I need shooters topside to provide covering fire from the skylight. Keep them pinned and trapped in the salon while we pull back." The blond man cocked his head as he listened to the response. "Just _fucking _get it done."

Another burst of automatic fire slapped into the wood partition Selina was backed up against, vibrating the steel frame and sending wood splinters slicing into the air. Several other groupings of bullets tore into the water around them, shredding a still visible edge of the nearest couch and sending up little spouts of salt water as they stitched back and forth.

The fire may have been accurate, but they weren't trying to kill them. Selina hunched lower and tried to chance a look back at their attackers again. Another pinpoint volley drove her back to her cover. As she'd expected, they weren't advancing under the covering fire, merely content to stay where they were and wait for help. Once that happened the two of them would be sitting ducks with the rising water to their backs and a whole load of bullets from in front and above.

"Listen," Selina started, "I don't want to be a downer here, but if we let them get a bead on us from up there we're toast." She turned toward the Batman. "We're gonna need to..."

The space beside her was empty. Only a ripple in the water marking the fact that anyone had been there to begin with.

"Oh, you gotta be freakin' kidding me," she muttered.

So, was that supposed to be chivalry or what? She stuck her head around the side of the wall rather than trying to peek over the top again. There was no sign of him, no cape disturbing the surface of the water or air bubbles anywhere. What the hell? Was he going to try and sneak up on all of them?

Bullets stitched through the water and drove her back once more, but not before she'd noticed some of the guards were heading for the hidden pressure door. By now, the water level was just beginning to reach the top of the stairs, starting to extend over the flooring and lap at their feet.

They were leaving. The sinking yacht and the fact that it was breaking up was finally getting them nervous enough that they were gonna try and trap her and the Batman while they tucked tail and ran. That was completely unacceptable. Falcone wasn't going anywhere.

"No," Selina whispered. She tried again to get a view of the raised office area.

Most of Falcone's men, battered and bruised, were already through the door and heading up to the open upper decks beyond. Only Alberto, Christian, and one guard carrying an automatic weapon remained behind. The guard was providing the final, sporadic bursts of covering fire for the group.

And now it was their turn to leave. Hell, Falcone was already striding towards the pressure door.

"_No!_"

Selina threw herself over the barricade, splashing down on the other side and pushing forward through the thigh deep water. Heedless of the danger she darted forward, racing past what had been the sitting area and approaching the twisted remains of the skylight.

She wasn't going to make it though. The distance was too great and the water was slowing her down too much. Selina bellowed his name, sliding over the back of a half destroyed couch and continuing on. There _had _to be a way. She'd already thought she was going to die tonight. Multiple times. She'd also had Alberto literally in her claws. After all that was life really just going to allow him to slink away? Was that the sick joke at the end of all this?

And where the _hell _was the Batman and why wasn't he trying to stop them?

Falcone turned in the doorway at her outburst, raising his hand to stop his bodyguard from firing on the charging woman. Behind him Christian and the final thug passed him and moved out of sight. Then, with a final wave and small salute the door slammed shut with her still not even close.

Selina screamed and kept running.

And then something slammed into her, hauling her off her feet and sending her into the cold, murky water. Solid arms wrapped around her and she was dragged back through the rising tide, nearly being thrown under the grand piano in the process. A split second later automatic weapons fire peppered the seawater where she'd been. The men firing down through the destroyed skylight had finally shown up to keep them trapped.

Selina didn't see any of that though. All she saw was the grotesquely grinning black face disappearing behind the hatch a mere twenty feet away, replaying the scene again and again in her mind.

She struggled, punching at the figure behind her.

"_Goddammit! Let me go!_"

"The door is sealed and watertight," he said in her ear. Selina pulled away from him, reaching for a small cutting torch in one of the pouches at her waist as she glared at the Batman, showing him her tool. She was about to rise again to dash for the heavy steel pressure hatch when strong hands clamped down on her shoulders and spun her back around, never letting go. "_Selina_," the Batman growled, drawing her in close, "you go after him you'll just get bogged down in the hallways _if _you don't get cut down before then. Falcone will _still _get away and you'll drown or be shot."

She was almost at the end of her rope, tears dancing at the corners of her vision. To finally discover the identity of the monster who'd killed your only family only to have him slip through your fingers...

"So what then?" she cried. "Your advice is to just let him fucking go?" She shook her head and tried to pry herself out of his grip. A grouping of shots slammed into the top of the piano as the water level reached mid torso on the crouched pair. "I can't do that. I can't take the chance that he might slip away from me again. I'll find a way."

She tried to turn back towards the door and roll out from under the instrument but the Batman held her firmly in place. At this point she wasn't even feeling the cold sensation as water began moving up her chest, slowly and inexorably rising. The heat from her anger and frustration were clouding everything.

"You won't do anyone any good if you die here tonight. Do you think your friend would want that?" Selina just glared at him, debating the merits of sinking her claws in between the plates of the man's armor. His masked head bobbed, indicating the pressure door. "Falcone can't hide forever. A man like that...with that kind of ego won't stay gone. He can't take defeat. You'll _still _get your chance," he finished.

"You _don't _know that," she grit out from between her teeth. Visions of Holly's bruised, drug wracked body lying on a cold steel gurney flashed through her mind, igniting a new flash of anger and hatred. Who the fuck was this man to keep her from Falcone?

"I know that if you drown...if you die tonight, you'll never get that chance."

Selina pulled at his grip again, getting ready to go that extra step and put him down if necessary. Or at least try. She had no delusions about her chances with the Batman in a fight, but this bastard wasn't going to stop her out of some kind of misplaced idea of being her personal savior. Hell, she didn't need saving. Not Selina Kyle.

"I can get us out of here. I can," the Batman continued. He pointed towards the closed door. "But it's not _that _way."

"And who said I want help? I'm better on my own. Just let me go and stay the _fuck _away from me."

"What about Wayne?"

That stopped Selina cold.

"No," she hissed, the heat of her anger turning into something cold and dangerous. She turned on him and planted a finger aggressively into his armored chest, her head bent at an awkward angle beneath the protection of the piano. "No. Don't you fucking _dare _bring him into this. _This _is about Holly." She broke off a bit and looked at the ground...or where the ground would be if not for the water. When she spoke her voice wavered audibly. "Besides...Bruce...Bruce would understand."

The Batman shook his head. "This isn't the way it has to end. You and Wayne..."

Selina couldn't meet his gaze. Instead she scoffed self-loathingly, cutting him off. "Who're you kidding? Me and Bruce?" She laughed sadly again. "What do you think that is? Huh? Be realistic. At this point I'm pretty sure I don't deserve the happy ending." Selina could practically feel herself breaking. "Just...please...let me go," she pleaded, taking a deep breath. Getting a good gulp of air seemed suddenly labored. As though there was a huge weight sitting there. "Let me have this."

The Batman just watched her for a moment, studying her. Selina still couldn't return the penetrating gaze. Slowly she felt the hands release her, the only remaining sensation the cold lapping water now rising nearly to her shoulders.

"Soon you might not be seeing quite as much of me," Selina said, angling her head back and smirking up at the Batman. "Don't deny it. You're gonna miss this?"

She wasn't sure what she expected. Selina knew he wasn't going to say anything, wasn't going to wax poetic and sure enough he stayed true to form. Instead, he just continued to watch her silently as the water rose around them. It was almost to the bottom of their necks now. In another few minutes their hiding place under the instrument would be gone anyway. Selina took a moment to return his look, steeling herself for what she was about to do.

"I..."

Words failed her. Despite her joking demeanor there was a lot of truth to the reality that this might be the last time she saw this truly remarkable human being. She couldn't explain it, but it made her sad. Made her almost reconsider what she'd been so adamant about moments earlier.

She glanced at the pressure door and then back at the Batman. Selina nodded once and turned to brace herself for the sprint, knowing she'd be trying to run through water while being fired upon nearly the entire time. And that was before she even made it through the opening to whatever lay on the other side.

One last deep breath and she inched forward, approaching the edge of their cover.

And a muscled forearm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her back suddenly into a hard chest as another arm slid along the side of her neck. She was just about to be pissed off and start fighting when she felt the prick of a needle against her neck and everything -including the sensation of the frigid water- disappeared completely.

* * *

><p>She was <em>not <em>going to be pleased about any of this. Hell, the silence she'd been shooting him ever since she'd snapped out of her stupor halfway to shore was almost as chilly as the water he'd been treading at the time.

Falcone was all but gone when Bruce had drugged her, but Selina not only wouldn't have known that, she likely wouldn't have believed it either. That was how blinded she'd been by his presence.

Alfred had been keeping an eye on the escape boats being lowered into the water the whole time he'd been dealing with Selina and the confrontation in the grand salon. By the time she'd finished her argument with him beneath the piano there was only one craft left and very few individuals still aboard. At that point even Alfred had agreed his decision was prudent. There was simply no way she'd have made it. No way she'd have caught up to Falcone. Instead she'd have likely gotten trapped somewhere in the bowels of the ship and either drowned or suffocated on the way to the bottom of the bay.

So, Bruce had come to a decision, released her, and did what he thought was necessary. At least he'd only given her a third of a dose though. Otherwise he'd have had to drag her body all the way to shore. With boots and a cape in water that cold it would have been...difficult.

He reached a rusted ladder extending up through the worn wooden pylons and cracking concrete stanchions of the wharf and took another look back. Selina was still following, a familiar sour expression still gracing her features while she continued smoothly stroking forward. Behind her out in the bay the yacht was finally slipping below the waves. By now there were several emergency response boats circling where it had disappeared, their spotlights searching the debris choked waters. They'd likely be scrambling to get divers to hunt for survivors...or more likely bodies.

There was no sign of Alberto or his men. From what Alfred could tell, they'd headed upriver in their speedboats, but he'd chosen to stay and guarantee their survival rather than follow along so there was little further information.

Bruce started up, pausing at the midpoint to make sure Selina wasn't having any trouble following. Once at the top he turned and helped her reach the cracked concrete loading area in the shadow of an equally worn looking warehouse building. She still wouldn't make eye contact with him though as she plopped down heavily, staring out over the water and the twinkling lights of the circling ships.

They stayed that way for god knows how long.

"I probably should have expected you to do something like that," she finally whispered. She chuckled humorlessly. "You're always right aren't you?"

Bruce regarded her for a moment and then watched the rescue boats. He _should _have known about Falcone. He could have saved a lot of lives if he had. Before that there had been Rachel and Harvey's abduction. He _should _have seen that coming. Hell, there was a long and growing list of the things he'd been wrong about.

"No," he finally said.

Sitting in front of him with her back turned she just nodded and continued to look back out over the bay.

Minutes stretched by again in silence.

"Goddammit," Selina said. She took a deep, shuddering breath and bowed her head. "Goddammit." Although she didn't appear to be crying her entire body was wracked with sobs as she sat on the concrete wharf, a cold pool of water collecting around her as she dripped quietly. After a second she punched the ground, her whole body shaking. "I fucking had him. Can you believe it? I finally had him." Selina took another wavering breath. "Goddammit."

Bruce stood silently behind her a few paces. Obviously he knew she needed something. Some kind of comfort or words of wisdom. He also knew there was no way he could give it to her as he was. Not when she was probably going to hold him responsible. An apology now, as shocking as it would be coming from the Batman, would ring hollow no matter what.

There'd been a time when he'd been the same way. Inconsolable. Angry at fate and the world and the cards he'd been dealt. And that was even when he'd had Alfred trying his very best to provide cheer and to support him at every turn. From personal experience he knew there was little to be done here. Sometimes you just needed time and space. There were no quick fixes.

"The ship was sinking," he finally murmured. In a way it was to justify his actions to himself more than anything else. For a moment Bruce thought about placing a hand on her shoulder. Something. Something physically reassuring, but in the end he didn't. "You'd be trapped now...or worse if we hadn't escaped. I'm..." he took a breath, "I'm...sorry, but...but this is what your friend would have wanted."

Selina still wouldn't look up at him. "You still should have let me go."

He frowned but stayed where he was. Comforting members of the opposite sex wasn't exactly in his skill set even when he wasn't in full body armor and a mask. Past Rachel he'd really never even dealt with many women on a personal level other than the occasional date he flaunted around town. This was making for an extremely uncomfortable moment, but somehow his heart had seemed to seize a bit in his chest when confronted with the sad sight in front of him.

Selina pulled her knees tight up against her and continued staring out over the harbor.

Bruce sighed quietly and said, "You know she wouldn't have wanted you dying in there because of her. She'd have wanted you to live. Don't forget that." He took an uncertain step forward. "Honor her through that."

Selina laughed darkly, a choking half sob sound that somehow tightened the feeling in his chest further. "Yeah," she said softly, gesturing around to the cold, dank wharf and the tepid water lapping at the pylons below them, "cause _this _is living." She half turned, acknowledging him, but still not looking at him squarely. "You don't get it. I haven't been living in a long time. Not really. I've just been...alive."

"Time passes," he replied. "Wounds heal. There _is_a life after this, but you have to want it. In the end, it's up to you. You control that."

Selina was on her feet shockingly fast. He knew she likely fostered a lot of resentment for his role in tonight's events but he hadn't necessarily been expecting this. Selina crossed the space between them in several quick, powerful strides until she was almost nose to nose with him, glaring up at the taller Bruce.

"Up to me? You think this is all up to me? Just give it time and forget it's there? Is that it? That's your answer?" Selina turned and put a step between them before throwing up her arms and spinning back to face Bruce. "Don't you get it?" she asked. "He destroyed her. Holly was like my sister, the only family I had, and that man threw away the best person I've _ever _known like she was some sort of...trash. Used her and spit her out like a piece of garbage, just a shell of who she once was. No," she drove her index finger into Bruce's chest plate, glaring up at him, "_he _gets to answer for that."

Despite her outburst and the fire in her words Bruce maintained his stoic shell. "I never said he wouldn't. He's a murderer and he _will _come to answer for his crimes. I promise you that. But you're too close to this. You nearly died tonight because your emotions got the best of you. Because you were blinded."

"Sorry," she said angrily, waving her hand dismissively. "I guess we're not all carved out of stone like you. Some of us actually...you know...feel."

"Emotions and remaining objective _can _coexist."

"That's all fine and good, but what about Holly? Huh? Doesn't she deserve justice for what happened to her? I couldn't care less about the rest."

That night years ago in a car with Rachel came to mind. The day Joe Chill had been murdered. The day where he'd been ready to do the deed himself. It had been his lifelong friend that had first brought about the ethos that had come to dominate his life. It was her that first began to make him understand.

"What you want is revenge, not justice," he said, mimicking Rachel's words from that night.

"Whatever." Selina shook her head vehemently. "It's the same damn thing."

Now it was Bruce's turn to shake his head, moving it just enough to be visible. "Justice is..."

"No!" She was practically screaming at him, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. "_You_ don't get to lecture me. Not you," she yelled. She pointed at him, jabbing a finger at him with every sentence to emphasize her point. You've _always _worked outside the system. Taking things into your own hands because no one else would. I'm just doing the same thing."

She was wrong, but there wouldn't be any convincing her of it. Not that way. He'd need to try something else.

"I have one rule," Bruce began slowly. Thoughts of Rachel again flitted by Thoughts of Harvey Dent and Anna Ramirez. "It's been challenged and...pressured. There's been temptation...but it's a line that I'll never cross. It's a rule that you're looking to break. One that will change you, that will put you at _their _level."

Selina shook her head and scoffed. "You think I care? You have no idea what I've been through. I'm already changed. I'll never be the fucking same again." Her voice wavered slightly, the sadness in her voice momentarily outweighing the anger. She quickly steeled herself, squaring her shoulders and wiping away the unshed tears in her eyes. "I won't let you take this away from me. I can't. You don't know what this is like."

The two just stared at each other. One radiating a cold, simmering determination while the other was losing ground.

Bruce finally looked at the ground and sighed, barely whispering. "I do know."

Something in Selina...the source of her fire and her resolve deflated a bit as she struggled to process what he'd just revealed to her. The Batman had actually admitted something personal. She worked her mouth twice, trying to come up with something to say. For once her sarcasm and wit had actually been stymied.

"What?"

He looked up, meeting her eyes evenly. "I know what it feels like." He hadn't hidden his voice that time when he'd spoken.

This wasn't the way Alfred would have wanted it...probably not the way anyone would have wanted to go through with something this sensitive. Nothing about this could be confused with being the right time. But Selina needed something. She was struggling, fighting against the feelings of failing her friend and not having anyone to lean on...of being utterly alone. Who knows how long she'd been pushing things like this down? Putting on a brave face and hiding behind her sarcasm and verbal barbs in order to pretend it didn't hurt. Hell, he'd done much the same thing once upon a time.

No, like it or not...this _was _the time. He'd just have to trust in his own intuition and take the plunge.

Bruce stepped forward, his decision made while she still stood paralyzed. There was no going back, nowhere to hide, no excuse to make. He moved his hands slowly to the sides of his cowl, gently unsnapping the latches that kept it in place at either side and never breaking her look.

Selina's eyes widened, her whites bulging as the blood drained from her face. The meaning of what was going on in front of her was plainly evident.

"What're you...? You don't..." Selina held her hands up pleadingly, her words failing her.

She may have always been curious about what was behind the mask, but now...actually faced with it and in such a fragile state she had no idea how to react.

The cowl lifted, separating from his lower jaw and letting the chill air reach the damp hairs at the base of his neck. Now Selina just looked panicked.

"Dammit, will you hold on a sec." She took a step back from him. "I know we're...I mean you're..."

The mask cleared his head and Bruce dropped his arms to the side, raising his eyes back to meet hers. From there all he could do was stand and wait. The ball was in her court.

Selina didn't disappoint.

Her mouth worked once without making sound, but her eyes never once wavered away from his.

"Bruce," she finally said softly. It wasn't a question, merely a statement of fact.

He didn't say anything, just continued standing there and letting her process the bombshell he'd just dropped. Ever so hesitantly she took a shaky step forward, one hand coming up as though to touch him and make sure he wasn't some kind of figment of her imagination. It _had _been a pretty long night.

"Bruce," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Whatever reaction he expected out of her though, it generally didn't involve her kissing him. He'd figured they'd still end up being in a pretty in-depth argument, not in an embrace. If anything, Selina was always full of surprises.

She smashed her lips against his, grabbing the back of his sweaty head and wrapping the other arm around his neck. He'd reacted instinctively kissing her back even as things became more passionate, more desperate. Bruce wrapped his own arms around her narrow waist and shoulders, pulling her more tightly to him as she opened her mouth against his, inviting entrance. Pressed against him, Bruce could practically feel some of the tension erode away, her spine and arms easing and becoming less rigid as the kiss continued. After a minute she pulled away slightly, staying in his grip but keeping her face against his.

"God it's good to see you," she murmured against his lips. He could feel the small smile form against him before she leaned in for another, softer kiss, slowly savoring the feel of her lips and skin before she abruptly pulled back completely.

The slap that followed caught him completely off guard though, striking him across the cheek and jolting his head to the side.

"_That's _for drugging me," Selina hissed.

He saw the second one coming, but made no move to stop it or deflect it. Right now she needed the catharsis and release more than anything he could gain from stopping it. That didn't mean it didn't sting though. He was already kinda hoping she'd go back to releasing tension with more kissing.

"And _that's _for making me think you were some defenseless moron and causing me to risk my neck for your scrawny hide." She reached back to slap him yet again before thinking better of it and staying her hand. "Seriously," she asked, "this _whole _time? This whole damned time? Why the hell didn't you just tell me?"

Bruce chose his words carefully. "Because you never told me who you were."

"I never..." she started incredulously, "...you've known who I was practically this whole time. Hell, you took stalking to a whole new level just to do so. Remember that?"

"But you never _told _me," he said.

She watched him for a while, studying his face before her eyes dropped to the armor and the tool belt. "And you weren't sure you could trust me with something like this if I couldn't trust you with my own little secret."

"Something like that."

"Man," she said, that familiar smirk appearing on her face, "that was gonna be a long dance then, huh? Don't know if I'd ever have gotten around to it. Figured Bruce Wayne would just..." she sighed, "...I don't know...something...if he knew the truth. Guess I was afraid. Didn't want to be...judged. Already do enough of that on my own."

Bruce nodded in understanding. They stared at each other for another moment before Selina's eyes began wandering over the armor he still wore. A beeping sound from his gauntlet broke both their thoughts. The signal that the car was nearing.

"So...the Batman?" Selina said, smiling. Bruce managed a small smile of his own and nodded. "Gotham's Dark Knight...the legendary vigilante...and this whole time it was just some spoiled billionaire playing dress up." She winked at him to let him know she was kidding. "Bound to be a little story there though. Any chance I'm gonna get to hear it?"

He almost laughed at the way she was already downplaying the revelation he'd given her. Only Selina wouldn't have been sent reeling by the news. Only Selina could have already gotten so over it that she'd already be cracking jokes. And beneath it all he actually _did _want her to know.

"Maybe," was all he'd allow though, but somehow that seemed like enough for Selina.

A low rumbling pulled both their attentions to the mouth of a nearby alley between the warehouse and it's neighbor. A grouping of lights and a low, angled black shape rolled into sight, coming to a stop with the engine idling.

Bruce glanced at Selina. For the first time since he'd pulled the cowl off he could see the brutal reality of her situation take hold of her yet again. Her eyes looked lost, moving from his giant black tank to the bay where a yacht had once been. A yacht where she'd missed a golden opportunity. Where she could have finally avenged her dearest friend. She took a shuddering breath.

They were still going to need to talk. That was a foregone conclusion. His decision to reveal his identity hadn't changed everything between them. She trusted him, probably now more than ever, and she knew he was speaking from personal experience, but that wouldn't be the end of things. She still wanted revenge. Thirsted for it. The knowledge that the Batman was Bruce Wayne certainly marked a shift in their relationship, but what that shift meant was yet to be determined. At the end of this she could still come out hating him and he'd have to live with that.

"What...what now?"

Bruce looked back down at her. Selina almost seemed to shrink and shiver in the cold breeze as her own thoughts consumed her. He replaced the cowl on his head, snapping it into place. There was no way he was leaving her alone. Not tonight. Not in this state. Softly, he took her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers and squeezing.

"You're coming with me."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Like Ramirez's tortured confession and a couple other scenes, I've had Bruce's reveal to Selina in mind since the very beginning. Hell, part of it was even written over a year ago. I never wanted his reveal to be arbitrary. To be an "oh, by the way, look at me" type of thing. There had to be more weight and more meaning to it than that. I really thought the similarities in what he's already gone through and what she's undergoing would link them. Hopefully you liked it. In comics canon Bruce did the big reveal during the Hush storyline. I had that in my head a bit (although there was a little more emotion involved here) because I always liked it and her rather subdued reaction. I even briefly contemplated having her make the same joke about his shaving habits. Obviously didn't though. Oh well. _

_Coming next...the aftermath. Of everything. Oh, and the Joker makes a play for something...and someone...  
><em>


	44. Chapter 44

_Wow, so pretty sure this is the longest chapter yet of Legend at over 12,000 words. No idea how that happened, but at least I got it done in under two weeks. Hope you guys enjoy it.  
><em>

_Reviews only take a second and make things so worthwhile for us authors. So, take a second and let us know what you think. Insight is always welcome and encouraged and they certainly provide additional incentive to get that next chapter out.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The city rushed by outside the windshield, buildings zipping by in a homogenous blur as the giant car took another hard turn, throwing its weight around another corner as it headed northwest for the nearest bridge. Selina was seeing little of it despite her eyes being rigidly fixed out the windows. At this point her brain practically ached from overuse, its metaphorical gears spinning at numbing speeds. By now, you could probably smell something burning.<p>

Bruce _was_ the Batman. The Batman _was_ Bruce. What. The. _Fuck_.

That alone was enough to tax her mind nearly to the breaking point. Yeah he was charming and intelligent and rich and aloof and carved out of freakin' marble, but the man who literally bludgeoned Gotham City's criminals with his fists? If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes calling that a stretch would be grossly downplaying it. It required a leap of logic that could damn well span the Grand Canyon. _God_, did she have freakin' blinders on or something? How had _this_, all of this, have caught her so unprepared.

_And_ on top of that Alberto was the Black Mask..._and _he'd murdered Holly.

She felt like smacking her head against something really solid, she really did. Hard. Was _anyone _who they actually said they were anymore? The irony of that statement didn't escape her. As if she wasn't someone who put on a mask too. Selina rubbed her already aching temples. As though her life weren't complicated enough her boyfr...Bruce, she mentally berated herself, _Bruce _was the eastern seaboard's most famous face, one of the world's most wealthy men, _and_ the most feared, costumed vigilante since...well..._ever_.

God, why did that have to be so hot.

She shook her head to clear the dirty thoughts and peeked at Bruce out of the corner of her eye. Obviously the mask hid his face well enough, but the eyes, lips, and jaw were still visible. How had she managed to miss this then? She'd seen both the Batman and Bruce Wayne plenty of times. Hell, she'd even kissed both of them at one time or another and...nothing. Could her own biases and preconceptions really have blinded her that much? That she couldn't even recognize a man she'd freaking slept with?

The fact that nobody knew who he really was was something of a consolation. At least she wasn't _more _stupid or blind than everyone else...just...equal. He'd managed to pull the wool over people's eyes for years without being discovered. Hell, he'd even been the subject of a massive police manhunt and still remained a mystery despite being under incredible scrutiny. Obviously he knew how to be pretty effective at hiding his identity.

_But _in what world was Bruce Wayne seriously the Batman? Okay, so his wealth afforded him the tools and toys he used. That much at least was a no-brainer. But he was famous, his picture gracing newspapers, blogs, and gossip magazines almost daily. The rumors about his night life were damn near legendary...and completely fabricated, she realized. She'd seen for herself the boredom and disinterest with which he approached the parties and dates he attended. Hell, she'd even called him out on it. It was a persona...exactly like she'd noted. Something to throw off suspicion and make him seem useless. On top of that, he also didn't have family or close connections. There was really only...

"So, I assume Alfred knows," she said quietly, finally turning to look at him fully.

Bruce glanced at her before returning his eyes to the road. There really was no point in him denying it at this point. Pretty much anyone that'd spent the kind of time she had around the two men would have been able to see their bond. "He does," he finally said.

"And Commissioner Gordon? The cops?"

He shook his head in the negative. Interesting. Somehow she'd always assumed the GCPD _knew _and just kept the secret for some reason. Perhaps so they had a way to circumvent the law a bit or something. The whole plausible deniability thing. Damn, but fooling a bunch of cops and detectives couldn't have been easy. Especially considering he'd been the state's number one fugitive for...what...a year? Two? And what did that mean about the charges against him?

"And that lawyer," she asked, "Dent...the one you were accused of killing. You _really_ didn't do it, did you? Your one rule?" Bruce silently nodded his head, confirming her suspicion. "So, that poor detective on the internet really _was _telling the truth then?"

Next to her she noticed his eyes squeeze shut for the briefest of moments. It wasn't much as far as reactions went, but it was there. When they opened again there was something...sadness deep within them. Something like...regret. "No," he finally said slowly. "No, that was a lie. I didn't kill Dent or those others, but...neither did she."

Selina frowned. That was kinda...vague. "But if it wasn't either of you and it wasn't the Joker then...what's that leave?"

"Something you're better off not knowing."

Selina nodded and looked back out the window. Fair enough. Of course, it was in her nature to press, but he'd already supplied her with the biggest secret he possessed. No reason to make him spill any more...well, at least not yet. Neither of them were exactly an open book anyway after years of secrets and few trustworthy companions. Obviously this would be a one page at a time kind of thing rather than whole chapters just spilling out in a torrent. So, she'd have to make do and be happy with the tidbits he gave her.

Or at least try.

So, despite the trappings of wealth, the fame, the fortune five hundred company, and the fact that everybody was clamoring for his time Bruce was essentially a loner. A very, very well built loner. The mental image of him shirtless in the manor's entryway popped into her mind. Well, guess that was explained now. Selina's thoughts jumped from that to the passionate night they'd shared together and she froze. Jesus, that also explained the scars.

So much for that Chinese prison. Which begged the question...what else had he lied about? Behind the vacant persona and the apparent laziness were a sharpness and intelligence that was almost jaw dropping. Still, while he may be cool and always calculating some part of her wanted to believe that he'd actually managed to share something real with her. That he'd felt enough trust to let her in even the tiniest little bit.

Then again, he also didn't seem the type to be the Batman so...

But he'd been there. He'd _always _been there. Whether it was Bruce or the Batman one of them had, in some small way, been there to support her or even save her life when things got dangerous. Even if he'd lied about a few things, _that _had to mean something. Right?

Their kisses and their dates and night together sure seemed real enough too. Hell, he'd pursued her. Talked to her. Gotten her to reveal bits of truth that she hadn't told a soul except for maybe Slam. That couldn't _all _have just been for information gathering purposes. He'd really wanted to know, wanted to get to know her. Right?

Their date. Selina's head jumped as she remembered the night at the penthouse, replaying the details as she went back over yet another of their interactions looking for clues. The dinner, the night air, the wine, the way they'd almost kissed on the balcony.

When they were interrupted by Alfred.

"So, our first date?" she said casually. "Anything there you want to tell me? I seem to remember an emergency from Wayne Enterprises popping up."

"Oh that." Bruce grimaced, sighing after a second. "There were six people murdered that night. Do you remember?" Selina shrugged. Honestly, half the nightly news seemed to be devoted to people getting murdered these days. To her it had honestly started to kind of blend together. "Alfred was letting me know. He knew I'd want to be there, knew there was a link to the Joker."

Now _that _she did remember. The news had been pretty sensational when the whole initials spelling out a message thing had been discovered. It hadn't affected her much at the time, of course, but then again, it _was _funny how things could change. The Joker seemed to have a way to affect pretty much everyone in the city at a whim.

"So, running off to play with a psychopath, huh?" She smirked at him and winked. "I suppose that's one way to make a girl feel special."

He didn't really react, just shot her a look out of the corner of his eye, but for once the twitch at the corner of his mouth was actually visible. For probably the first time _ever _someone was seeing the Batman smile.

A change in the pitch of the vehicle drew Selina's eyes back outside as the Granton Bridge loomed above them, the giant suspension structure whipping by as the mammoth black vehicle plowed forward toward the mainland. It wasn't long before the remnants of civilization were slipping past, gradually replaced by the complete darkness of the surrounding forests.

This made no sense. Where the hell was he taking them? Some place nobody would ever find the body? Seriously, the only thing of any significance way out here was...the Palisades.

* * *

><p>Throughout the drive back through the city, across the bridge, and to the mainland the two occupants had remained in a mostly awkward silence. Bruce had kind of expected Selina to be spouting a thousand questions given her normally curious nature, but instead she stared straight ahead, her mind very obviously whirring busily away as she pieced things together, every now and then breaking the stillness and asking something very pointed and specific. He tried to answer her honestly, but there was still such an innate desire to play things close to the vest. He'd have to work on that.<p>

"So, when you promised to help me that night in that restaurant's bathroom?" Selina looked over at him. She'd long ago removed the hood and goggles that she normally wore. Her hair was matted and still wet and her makeup had run from the seawater and crying, but she still managed to look as alert and confident as ever.

Bruce just smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. Selina, however, rolled hers. "Ass."

They passed the Kinney estate on the dirt service road that bordered the massive properties in the Palisades. To their left the small river that led back to the waterfall and cave meandered along behind the dense foliage as the sky slowly lightened over the treetops. They'd be arriving home right before dawn.

"And how'd you figure out where I was?" Selina asked, still watching him. "Who Alberto was? I...uh...I didn't exactly give you the clearest of messages."

"I tried beating it out of him," Bruce replied. Selina arched a brow, but didn't seem to take much glee from that. She likely already knew about his visit with Falcone before he knew the man was Black Mask. "I almost didn't figure it out though. It ended up being some luck, a good memory, and some deductive reasoning that took care of the rest. I'm just glad I figured it out in time."

"Yeah," she said without much conviction, turning to look out the window. "Me too."

Bruce sighed and tightened his grip on the wheel. He knew she was going to come back to that, to what she'd manage to miss tonight. Simply being alive just wasn't enough for her for once. It just would have been nice to go a little longer without having to deal with it. But if he had to confront it now then he simply had to. "Listen," he said, "I _am _sorry for pulling you out of there like that. Really. If I'd seen any other way I would have..."

Selina held her hand up, cutting him off. She turned to look at him, her eyes softening as she gave him a small smile. "It's okay. I mean it. What you did..." She looked down at her hands a little sadly. "Let's just say I don't blame you. For anything. You saved my life tonight and I realize that. It just...it doesn't necessarily make things any easier, you know?"

Bruce nodded. He knew all too well.

"So, where exactly _are _you taking me? Now that I know the big secret...is this the part where you kill me and hide the body?"

"No." Bruce turned and smiled at her, but his words were deadly serious. "Selina, this is the part where I choose to trust you. With everything."

Her eyes told him how seriously she was taking that. Quietly she offered another small smile and nodded earnestly before straightening back to look back out the front windshield at the darkened countryside streaming by.

"Thank you," she finally said softly. "For everything. You don't share this with many people, do you?"

Bruce shook his head.

"In that case, I guess I'm honored."

They began passing another of the giant estates on the right in silence, it's ornate stone service gate rushing by in a blur as the car rumbled on along the rough gravel road.

"That must have been difficult for you," Bruce finally said. Selina turned toward him, but just looked on questioningly. He offered her a grin. "Admitting that you needed help. Thanking me. Must have been tough."

She rolled her eyes again, settling for, "Ass" once more rather than deny it. She was also smiling when she turned back to stare out the window.

The rest of the drive went uneventfully. She asked a couple innocuous questions that he answered. Mostly about the persona he presented as Bruce Wayne. For now, those seemed to be the dots she was connecting. It made a kind of sense. Until now Bruce Wayne and the Batman had been two separate, distinct people and she'd known one a lot better than the other. She'd assuredly get around to the rest though. And he'd do his best to fill in the blanks.

The waterfall directly ahead of her did a wonderful job breaking her train of thought though. Bruce _could _have come in through the tunnel entrance and saved her from some heart palpitations, but decided on making a bit of a splashy entrance instead. A proper introduction was everything. In the end it all came back to theatricality.

When she'd finally managed to slow her breathing from the jet propelled leap and resulting crash through the streaming water he popped the canopy, letting it slide up and back before helping Selina down to the pavement. From there he actually found himself drawn to watching her reaction.

"So, this is..." Bruce watched her gaze sweep across the bare stone walls while he removed his cowl again, the ceilings dripping with water as the underground river rushed by in the background. Eventually she reached the man-made structures and soaring brick arches at the back, her look growing curious, "...cozy? You really like to do things...literally. Don't you?"

He began walking, skirting the Pod and the other parked vehicles as he made his way deeper into the cavern. Selina followed him hesitantly.

"I discovered the caves in my childhood without realizing it," he explained. "Found the bats too. Finally explored it and put them to use when I came back to Gotham." Bruce shrugged. "Seemed appropriate. You know...secret."

Selina pulled up short, but couldn't help the broad, good-natured smile that bloomed over her face. "Appropriate?" she asked. "You're _the _Batman and you have a Batcave. I think the term appropriate puts whatever the hell all this is to shame." Chirping from high overhead drew her eyes back up to the black, shadowy ceilings. "And I see you keep...pets."

Bruce shrugged again. "They were here a long time before I was. Didn't see any point in evicting them."

"Yeah," she said, but her eyes never left the writhing masses on the ceiling as she made a face. "Charming."

Bruce started for the stairs leading past the infirmary and up to the main level, his boots clanking softly on them as he climbed. Near the top he turned to see her still standing in place by the Tumbler glancing around. The way her jaw was slightly dropped made him smile. "You coming?"

She started the slightest bit, but hurried after him, raising an eyebrow as they passed the entrance into the infirmary.

"Ever since the manor burned down this has been a work in progress. Vehicles, infirmary, workshop, computers..." Bruce shrugged, tucking the cowl under his arm. "Figured if I was going to do something I might as well do it right."

She didn't respond, her eyes widening even more as they came up to the computer stations, the walkways extending away into the gloom towards the cave's other features.

"Somehow I think your definition of 'doing it right' might be a bit different than just about everyone else's."

"The man _is _thorough, isn't he?" Alfred emerged from the brick arches from the direction of the elevator bearing a silver tray of coffee, tea, bottled water, fruit, assorted pastries, and the usual green protein shake. "You two had yourselves a bit of a night. I thought some breakfast might be in order."

"And there _he _is." Selina smiled warmly as she turned toward the approaching butler. "Good morning, Alfred," she said brightly, the corners of her eyes crinkling as her grin broadened. The older man set down the tray and bowed his head slightly in greeting. "You know, I ought to hurt you right along with this doofus for keeping me in the dark for so long. Couldn't have thrown a girl a bone?"

"And miss out on your priceless expression?" Alfred returned her smile, setting the tray down on one of the side tables near the banks of computers. "Never. Besides, it really wasn't my place."

"So, that makes you, what? The sidekick? Tech support?"

He grinned and eyed Bruce. "Actually, Miss Kyle, I'd consider myself more the medical staff and moral compass." He tossed a thumb over his shoulder towards a dark, angular shape that sat off in the shadows near the other vehicles. "Though I do somehow manage to fly _that _bloody contraption."

Selina glanced at Bruce, drawing a sheepish shrug. "I have...an old family friend that handles a lot of the technical, design, and fabrication aspects of all...this. Alfred helps run things on a day to day basis and is very capable, but my...friend is the one that comes up with and delivers me most of the equipment you see."

He watched Selina take another long look around before he began removing the gloves and gauntlets, setting them down next to the tray of food before he began on his cape. Selina was still looking off at the vehicles and workshop where the rows of tools and equipment sat dormant.

"Your friend's Lucius Fox, isn't it?" she finally said. Bruce's mouth dropped open and he arched a partially impressed, partially questioning eyebrow at her. "What?" she asked. "I told you I Googled you. That included your company. I didn't get off the boat yesterday." She shrugged and turned to pass him, leaning closer to get a better look at the computer setup. "Engineering degrees from MIT and Caltech as well as a long history with the Wayne family. It makes sense. Besides, he seemed like someone whose presence you could actually tolerate earlier tonight _and _at the hospital gala when we first met. From what I can tell there's not many people you can say that about."

Bruce turned towards Alfred and received an impressed smile in return before the older man shook his head, amused and went back to collecting the discarded pieces of armor. He turned back to Selina.

"He was running Applied Sciences when I came back. All of Wayne Enterprises prototypes and experimental technology." Bruce unlatched the weapons from his belt and set them next to his gauntlets. "Once I took back controlling interest in the company I made him the CEO."

Selina nodded without turning around, obviously still thinking. "Must have been like a kid in a candy shop. Your own personal endless supply of toys." Finally she turned and looked towards the Tumbler. "Though I'm betting there were some things that were pretty recognizable. Couldn't have been easy trying to hide it from him."

"By then I'm pretty sure he knew."

"Oh, I'm betting he knew a lot earlier than you think he did. He seems pretty shrewd." She smiled and leaned in close enough to peck him on the lips. "And you're not as secretive and mysterious as you like to think."

"Worked on you."

"Maybe," she offered. "Not all of it. I knew there was more to Bruce Wayne. Besides, if I'd been interested in you rather than Thorne or Falcone..." Selina shrugged, that gorgeous self assured smirk gracing her lips, "I'd have figured it out."

Bruce returned the smirk. "I'm sure." Alfred just raised an eyebrow and went about cleaning up after his employer. By now he'd taken off the rest of the utility belt and was beginning to remove the individual armor plates that made up the suit itself. Selina just stood by watching, her face unreadable. When he got to the pieces covering his abdomen she finally couldn't stand by silently any longer.

"So, then you're just calling it a night? You're just gonna let Alberto get away."

He paused and looked back up at her before finally dropping heavily into the rolling chair behind him. She had a target in sight now, a goal to finally bring about her measure of vengeance. Asking her for patience wasn't going to be easy to achieve. Besides the fact that the sun was coming up there was other, more pertinent information of which she was unaware too. Bruce leaned back in the chair and shared a knowing look with his butler.

"Tell her Alfred."

The older man stopped his careful inspections of the bat suit and straightened up.

"Miss Kyle, I'm afraid Mister Falcone and his associates left Gotham thirty minutes ago. A helicopter picked them up and ushered them to a waiting jet. The flight plan that was filed indicated London as its destination. By now they've been in the air for at least twenty minutes."

"Back to _his _turf," Bruce finished. "He's running. For now."

"You...we...can't just let him get away," Selina pleaded, her eyes shining with sudden panic. Her head swiveled as she looked at the computers and workshop and finally the vehicles. "You have that...that thing," she said, striding over to the steel guardrail and gesturing toward the powered down Wraith. "It has missiles, right? You can go after him."

Bruce shook his head and rose, coming to stand beside her. "Its only armed with missiles to strike targets on the ground, nothing that could be used against an aerial vehicle. Besides, its built for stealth and longevity, not speed. The jet can probably outrun it. It won't be able to catch up."

"Then we book commercial flights. Whenever the next red-eye is. Hell, you're Bruce Wayne, you've gotta have a private jet or twelve. We grab one of those, head for England, and hunt the bastard down."

Bruce tried to wrap a reassuring arm around her shoulders. "Selina..."

She shoved it off in a hurry, spinning to face him. "_No_. Bruce, we can't just let them get away!"

This time he grabbed both her shoulders and stooped a bit to force her to make eye contact with him. Her eyes were bright, almost tearful. "And _we _won't," he said. "Selina, I wasn't lying when I told you Falcone will be back. He will. He's not done with Gotham by any means. And if he doesn't come back..." Bruce shrugged, "it's not like Bruce Wayne doesn't have any contacts in Europe. We'll go to him if it comes to that. You have my word."

Something inside her...something in her posture of expression softened. "You'd...you'd help me," she whispered.

Bruce straightened up, looking down at her. "Well, I'm not going to help you kill him if that's what you're asking, but...yes, I'd help bring him to justice. He certainly deserves it. _But, _first there's some things I have to deal with here. There's too much at stake for me to just up and leave."

"The Joker."

Bruce nodded again. "And the Riddler."

She was silent for a while, staring at the ground while he stepped close, leaning against the guardrail and wrapping an arm around her. This time she let it stay, leaning into his embrace as he looked out over the cave and the rushing water at its entrance. Her outfit was cold to the touch. Even through the armor and suit he could feel it...the cool dampness. She must be freezing from their dip in the harbor. In the car the heater had been on, but now here in the cave there was nothing. As if on cue she burrowed in further into his side, closing her eyes as he wrapped his arm around her tighter.

Unfortunately, the calm didn't last very long.

"I stink," she said suddenly, gaining a little distance from him as she sniffed the air.

Bruce just grinned as she began to squirm. Sure enough, they both smelled faintly of tepid sea water and sewage. The damp, enclosed space of the cave probably wasn't doing them any favors either. "The waters around Gotham aren't exactly well known for being all that...pristine," he laughed.

"_Jesus_, you stink too." She made a face, still sniffing the air and finally shrugged his arm off. "We need to shower."

When she didn't budge, fixing him with an expectant stare, Bruce balked. She really did want to take a shower. As in...right now. Well, it _had _been a long night he supposed. She had to be tired.

"Oh. Yeah...okay. Uh, you can take the elevator up," Bruce said, pointing back the way Alfred had come. "The back stairs are outside the door and down the hall to your far left."

Selina just stared at him. It was the look she generally reserved for acts of stupidity. Bruce arched a questioning eyebrow. An act she mirrored.

Alfred stepped forward, speaking up in the slightly awkward silence. "I took the liberty of preparing a guest room next to Master Bruce's. There are clean clothes in the dresser and towels in the bathroom. If you'd like I can show you the way."

Now it was her turn to stare at Alfred. He received much the same look. After a second she chuckled and shook her head, exasperated. "Thanks, but the shower's bigger in the master bedroom, right?" Without waiting for an answer she turned and walked away, heading for the elevator. Both men just stared after her. "That's about what I thought," she said over her shoulder.

Both men remained quiet for quite awhile, even after she'd disappeared from view.

"Well, that went well," Bruce finally said, still staring after Selina.

"Indeed."

There was something kind of...sarcastic in the comment. Bruce glanced sidelong at his friend who was going back to his work. "What? You _said _I should tell her the truth."

"I didn't say a word, sir."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "But you were thinking it."

The elderly butler straightened up, placing an armor piece atop the pile before meeting his look. "It's nothing. The time may not have been the most...appropriate, but she certainly seems as though she's trustworthy." He turned to look back at Selina's departing form. "She's..."

"Adaptable."

Alfred nodded.

"_Hey_, seriously, you coming or what?" Selina's face appeared from behind one of the brick arches that dominated one side of the cave. "Honestly, I don't know how much more direct I can be," she said, winking at him before disappearing again from view. "Don't make me start without you."

Bruce couldn't meet his old friend's eyes, but he knew the man _had _to be silently laughing at him. He coughed into his hand before starting for the short flight of stairs that led up to the elevator. "I'm just gonna..." he said, pointing, "I'll...uh...see you later I guess."

Alfred never said a word. He didn't really have to.

* * *

><p>"So, that's her, huh?"<p>

Jeff Tulley heaved himself into the back of the armored transport, curiously eyeing the shape of the small redheaded woman restrained in the corner. She looked tired and dirty, her slightly red-tinged hair matted and stringy and her face bruised and cut. But her eyes still held a fire that shone out from beneath the disheveled hair. It was hard to believe the rumors he'd heard about her now that he was confronted with reality though. Sometimes putting a face to a monster didn't quite meet up with expectations.

Across from him Officer Wendell glanced up from where he'd been checking his shotgun over before looking at their passenger.

"Yep. One Pamela Isley. Miss Poison Ivy herself." He leaned in and chuckled. "Don't get too close, kid. Rumor is she can kill you just by blowing you a kiss."

Tulley rolled his eyes but stayed in his seat near the rear doors as another officer closed them tight, the lock clicking into place before he pounded twice on the steel door signalling everything was ready. The entire truck shuddered to life as the heavy diesel rumbled up in front. Without fanfare they pulled through the open gates and turned right on Forty-Fourth Street.

Across from him Wendell leaned into the radio clipped to his lapel, pushing the transmit button. "Dispatch, Prison Transport Two-One departing University Hospital with one prisoner in transit. Estimate time of arrival at Blackgate in sixteen minutes." The driver smacked twice on the metal partition separating the passenger area from theirs, drawing a nod from Wendell. "That'll be our escort."

On cue a patrol car slid in behind them, visible through the tiny slit windows that were strung out at intervals around the passenger compartment. There'd be another marked car out in front, leading them through the city to the prison to process the psychopath. Tulley settled in, dropping his own pump action across his knees as he silently watched their guest.

She was huddled forward, her wrists chained loosely together and then to the steel floor at her feet. Dressed in a simple orange jumpsuit she didn't look all that menacing, not like the deadly femme fatale they'd all heard about. Then again she didn't look all that beautiful or alluring at the moment and that had been how she'd ensnared her prey. Hell, she'd even managed to get Bruce Wayne and that dude pretty much settled for only the hottest women on the planet. That right there said a lot about her looks when she was cleaned up a bit. The scrapes and bruises certainly spoke to a pretty thorough fight she'd lost too though the hospital hadn't detected any broken bones or internal injuries. From what he'd heard she hadn't made a peep pretty much since they hauled her away from that accident scene with Wayne.

Still, despite how unintimidating she was he wanted her to pay him as little attention as humanly possible. As a general rule it was never a good idea if a serial killer knew your face or name.

The small procession rumbled down Warner, turning right on eleventh after a few miles. They'd follow this wide boulevard through the Narrows before turning west in midtown for the small spit of land Blackgate was located on overlooking the bay. Fifteen minutes and it'd all be over. Jeff and Leonard could hand Isley off to the female guards so that she could be properly searched and processed into solitary confinement and Jeff could get back to the novel he'd been reading while he sat and stared at video monitors all day long.

Christ how he hated when it was his turn for transport detail.

A jolt and they were on the short expanse over the strait separating the small island of the Narrows from Gotham's downtown.

"Traffic," came the staticky call over the radio clipped to Leonard's collar. "Looks like something's fouled up things on the bridge." Already they could feel the heavy transport slowing to a crawl. "Yeah, it's at a dead stop here."

"Shit."

Tulley frowned and glanced at the other officer. They were supposed to be on a tight schedule. Hell, the route and time of day were supposed to have been chosen specifically because it would keep them out of exactly these kinds of situations. "Take an alternate route?" he asked.

Leonard shook his head, glancing out one of the side windows and straining to see as far forward as he could. "Not unless you want to backtrack most of the way to the hospital." he stood up more fully and walked to another of the tiny bulletproof windows that allowed light into the compartment. "No idea how we'd manage a U-turn on a bridge anyway. Besides, we're not really supposed to alter the route. Naw, hopefully this is just something minor and it clears up. Fast."

Five minutes later with absolutely no movement and the truck's engine now turned off even Wendell finally seemed like he'd had enough, shaking his head and grabbing his radio clipped to his lapel.

"Lead element, can you tell what the hell's going on here? I mean, are we gonna be stuck here long or what? We're kinda on the clock."

A burst of static preceded the voice of the driver of of the first squad car. "I don't know what to tell you. I...hold on a sec. I think it may be starting to move again." There was silence as nothing but static broadcast from the lead escort car. "Yeah...I think we're good to go. Looks like they had to push a delivery truck off to the shoulder or something. I think we're good."

The big diesel rumbled back to life and the truck jolted as it began rolling again, picking up speed. They weren't even traveling close to the speed limit, but at least they were starting to move again. Forward progress was better than nothing. Tulley checked his watch. Behind schedule. Hopefully they could make up some time once they'd made it to midtown.

"_Hey_, look at this idiot." Tulley and Wendell both glanced at one another as the driver of the rear car radioed in. "Transport Two-One we got a pick-up driving down the side of the bridge. Looks like he just clipped somebody and kept right on going. Gonna try and cut him off before he does any real damage. Must be drunk the way he's moving" A crunching sound of metal and glass from behind them sounded out a few seconds later. "_Shit._ Alright, now the dude just sideswiped _me._Transport, heads up, he's on your nine o'clock. Something's not right."

The heavy armored truck jolted as something pressed in against its side. Then it jerked to the left as their driver reacted.

"Jesus, jackass," came the muffled voice of the driver on the other side of the armor plated wall. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, _whoa!_" The brakes squealing threw all three of the passengers forward as the giant truck lurched to a sudden, jarring halt. On the floor, Tulley juggled his pump action as he struggled to get up, shooting their infamous passenger a good, long look as he did so.

"What the _hell_, Mike?" screamed Wendell, banging the side of his fist on the wall. "You trying to break our damn necks or what?"

The only answer they got was a muffled curse and the heavy, booming report of a huge machine gun opening up. Loud thumps reverberated through the entire truck as slugs buried themselves in the armor, denting the steel inwards and sending slivers of the dark blue paint cracking off the walls. From elsewhere Tulley could also make out glass shattering under the volume of fire as he pressed himself to the floor. Whether that was from the driver's compartment or any of a number of the closely packed together vehicles on the expanse was impossible to tell.

Someone was screaming over the radio, his words indecipherable over the rapid, deafening staccato of the machine gun. All too soon the voice was cut off. Then the squad car behind them exploded in a shower of smoke and fire, the concussion rattling the armored transport violently.

"_Mike!_" Wendell screamed, crawling along the floor before slamming the butt of his weapon into the wall separating them. "Dammit, Mike, get us the _hell _out of here! _Mike_?"

There was no answer. Jeff darted for the rear window, peeking out just the corner to see a scene of complete chaos. The police vehicle behind them was burning, belching thick black smoke as it smoldered. All around them in the heavy traffic were bullet riddled cars, their occupants either huddled between the resulting slags of metal in shock, running in a panic for their lives, or slumped over, bloodied, and unmoving. It was like something from a nightmare.

Isley's head was up, watching the two of them, but she still hadn't said anything. In fact, despite being alert and following the events she seemed almost disinterested in whatever the hell was going on and who it was that was attacking them. How could she not even be registering alarm? Christ, that was kinda creepy.

Tulley froze. Did she know about this then? Did she have accomplices nobody knew about? Everything they knew about her pointed to a solitary operation. Could they have been wrong?

Another explosion rocked the truck, sending Tulley back down to his knees. "I think that was the other escort car," Wendell noted, still struggling to get back up to one of the bulletproof windows to try and see what was happening. When a burst of heavy weapons fire slammed into the side of the truck, leaving a sizable dent wherever a bullet impacted he gave up, instead reaching for his radio. "_Dispatch_, Prison Transport Two-One, we are under attack...repeat, we are under attack. Convoy is stalled out on the Narrows bridge at Eleventh and under fire. Identity of hostile force and numbers unknown but I think our driver and escorts are gone. Taking heavy fire and in need of _immediate _assistance." Another explosion rocked the bridge. "lots of _fucking _assistance!"

There was no response. Nothing but empty static.

"_Fuck_!" he screamed, pulling the hand held device from his shirt and throwing it across the compartment in frustration.

"What...what do we do now?"

Leonard was breathing hard, staring intently at the nearest tiny window as he silently considered their options. "We stay put," he finally said, nodding as though to reassure himself of his own decision. "Right now that armor is our safest bet. Somebody _has _to be on their way. I mean, there's no _way_this is going unnoticed. We sit tight and wait for help. It'll come."

Screeching tires alongside the truck drew both men back to the narrow slit windows, each one darting to opposite sides of the compartment.

"I've got an unmarked van over here."

"Same," Tulley said. As he responded the white van's sliding door pulled open, disgorging a small group of armed men on to the bridge. His heart seemed to stop beating in his chest as his breath seized.

They were all outfitted in masks resembling clown faces.

"Oh, shit," whispered Wendell. Jeff looked over to see the blood drain from his fellow policeman's face. "That's...that's the fucking Joker."

Jeff almost tripped over himself trying to get to the opposite side of the vehicle, smacking hard against the metal siding as he angled himself to see through another of the narrow viewports.

Sure enough, his colleague wasn't lying.

From outside, the thump against the wall of the vehicle drew the Joker's attention, resulting in a slightly cocked eyebrow and small smile as he dropped from the open doorway of the van to the ground. Clad in his nearly legendary blue-purple coat and green vest, his face caked and smeared with the accustomed make-up he held out his hand to one of his nearby goons for something before motioning them out of the way, hustling them off where they disappeared from view. With another sidelong glance at the windows where the two Gotham City police officers were watching him he started for the rear of the transport.

Tulley and Wendell turned to stare at each other in horror.

Going almost unnoticed was the form of a small, smiling, similarly make-up caked woman rising from the body of a nearby commuter before skipping lightly along after the Joker.

When the lunatic mounted the rear bumper of the transport the entire vehicle drooped the slightest bit under the additional weight. Both officers took involuntary steps back away from the door, Wendell ratcheting his shotgun to put a slug in the chamber. Tulley couldn't even remember when or where he'd dropped his in all the chaos. Obviously, it still had to be in the truck, but he wasn't about to go looking for it now. Instead he thumbed back the catch to his sidearm, drawing it out of the leather holster at his hip.

Several lighthearted knocks rang out against the heavy door, the Joker's mocking voice clear despite the thickness of the steel. "Yoo hoo...I know you're in there," he said, tapping on the door again. "So, listen, _this_..." he slapped a block of burnt red material to the tiny window, "is called Semtex. It makes things that annoy me go _boom. _Now, I'm not a completely unreasonable kind of guy. I understand that you have to run around like good little worker bees so that you can make pathetic amounts of money and in turn lend meaning to your insignificant little lives. However, you're currently trapped in there with something _I _want so I'll tell you what...you open up these big ole doors nice and easy and I don't lose my patience. Cause...you see, when I lose my patience I get annoyed and when that happens stuff like this," he held up the plastic explosive again, "tends to get used to remove things like...doors. It's all just so very messy. Body parts everywhere...you get the picture."

Tulley, eyes wide in fear, turned towards the other officer. Wendell just glared at him and shook his head. "You nuts? We open that door we're dead men," he said.

As though they had an option? They were two men with a couple guns trapped in a steel box. He was the damn Joker. _And _he had probably a half dozen to a dozen armed men with him. What hope did they have of standing in his way? This was a man who single handedly held the city hostage and went toe to toe with the Batman and almost won. For cryin' out loud he'd had people murdered and gotten most of Arkham leveled without ever lifting a finger.

"But, you heard him," he pleaded. "We _don't _open that door we're dead. You ever hear of the Joker _not _following up on a promise to blow something up? Jesus, Leonard, I mean...think of your wife. You've got..."

"How bout you let _me_ worry about my own damn family," the other man spat back. "Just _fucking _listen to me, alright. He's after _her_," he said, jabbing a finger at Isley. From her seat she just continued watching the two of them neutrally, still secured to the floor. "You think he's really gonna blow the door and risk killing her too?"

"And have you ever known the fucking Joker to do _anything _that was remotely sane? The man's a lunatic, dammit. You're actually gonna bet your life that he _won't _do it?"

Both men turned at the sound of knuckles rapping again on the heavy door. "Tick tock, tick tock."

Wendell spun back angrily, jabbing a finger at Jeff's chest. "We're police officers, remember? Protect and serve. That sound kinda familiar? We've got a goddamned job to do, Jeff." He stalked past Tulley, facing the rear of the truck with his shotgun raised.

"Fuck _that_. You think I ever figured I'd end up like this? It ain't worth it, man. None of this is. Come on, let's just..."

"_No_. We're done here," Wendell said turning back to face the door. "You suck it up or god help me..."

His body hit the floor awkwardly, the shotgun skittering out of his hand and underneath one of the benches along the wall. Tulley just stared down after him, the butt of his pistol still partially raised from where he'd clocked the man on the back of the head.

"_Fuck. _Sorry, Leonard," he said softly, "but I'm not dyin' for no murderer."

Then he dropped the revolver, reached forward and unlatched the mechanism on the double doors. Almost immediately, before the clank of the tumblers was even complete, they were yanked from his hands, the heavy steel being thrown open and flooding the entire space with sunlight.

Even before his eyes had time to fully adjust to the light the Joker was hoisting himself up and entering the compartment, raising an eyebrow first at Jeff and then Wendell before a small smile stretched the scars at the corners of his mouth. Then he turned back to the other occupant of the transport.

"Ah, the infamous Poison Ivy," he began, ignoring Jeff completely. From the open back of the truck he thought he heard a little girl's giggle, but he wasn't about to take his eyes off the madman across from him to check. Another man, a big one in one of the clown masks, hopped up into the cab, keeping a pistol trained on the now unarmed policeman.

The Joker stopped suddenly, glancing down at the guard at his feet and pausing long enough to briefly consider him as he angled his head to get a thorough look while running a hand through greasy, color stained hair. Then he unceremoniously raised a small semi-automatic and put a bullet into the back of an unconscious Officer Wendell's head, nodding to himself once as blood began seeping out over the truck's floor.

Tulley almost vomited.

Delicately stepping over the body the Joker went back to Isley. "So, I have to say...big fan. The way you had them all scrambling in terror like tiny little panicked ants was so much _fun _to watch. It reminded me of...well, me."

Isley regarded him coolly, her eyes narrowed in confusion. "You're breaking _me _out?" she asked. The Joker just slumped down on the bench across from her, stuffing his pistol in the pocket of his coat as he looked her over. "Why would you want me?"

"You?" he almost laughed, his smile widening so that his scars seemed as though they'd crack. "No, no...I think you've got the wrong idea. I mean, what would I want with you? No...it's something you _have _that I'm after."

That had both Tulley and Isley taken aback for a moment, both of them frowning in confusion. Whatever it was he wanted though Jeff didn't have a clue. Isley, on the other hand, eventually got it. For the first time there was emotion on the redhead's face, her eyes widening in fear as she stared at him. "You...you can't..." she whispered. Then she glanced up at Tulley pleadingly.

He couldn't really find it in himself to meet her eyes though. What was he at this point? An accomplice? To murder? To the Joker? He watched instead as the life drained out of his former colleagues body and again felt like vomiting.

"You can't be serious?" she finished, turning back to the psychopath sitting across from her.

The Joker, meanwhile, turned his head curiously, running a tongue over his jagged scars. "Well, why can't I?"

Her eyes grew wider, as though she couldn't even comprehend what he was talking about so nonchalantly. "It...it could conceivably kill millions."

_What_? Jeff's eyes left the ground, zeroing in on both villains. Isley looked entirely serious judging by the alarm on her face. Millions? _Fuck_. Next thing he knew he was scanning for his discarded sidearm. True, he may be a coward and he may have basically gotten another officer murdered, but being a party to genocide? Even he wasn't about to try and stomach that.

"Oh don't be such a worrier," the Joker said, dismissing her easily. "Of course I'm going to at least _warn _them first. It's all a part of the master plan. Just a bit of motivation."

"Please," she begged. For the first time she pulled at her restraints, testing them in some kind of desperate bid for freedom. "Please. You can't...you can't make me."

"I tell you what." He grinned at her. "How's about we go somewhere and talk about it. I bet when you've had some time to listen to what I've got to say you'll actually agree with me. Come on, I'm really not _that _bad a guy and I can be very...convincing."

At the word 'convincing' the blood drained out of the redhead's face. It didn't take a lot of imagination to figure out what that could mean. Tulley took a tiny step sideways, his pistol finally located near his right foot. Judging by the cold steel pressed against his back though he hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Never killed a pig before," came a deep, raspy voice near his ear. The masked gunman stepped around him, kicking the revolver away in the process as he came to settle across from Jeff. "First time for everything though I guess."

The Joker was barely even paying attention to them. He turned his head when the gun went skittering across the textured floor, but that was all the care he seemed to want to place in the trailer's other occupants.

"Please," Isley begged, bending forward and trying to extend her arms pleadingly as far forward as the chains would allow. "You don't understand. The formula is fast acting. It's too quick for a large scale dispersion. There just wouldn't be time for a counteragent to be administered to any percentage of the affected populace. That means women, children, the sick..."

The Joker just reached forward and patted her hand reassuringly. "And none of it will have been for nothing. There is purpose. I promise you that."

Isley didn't really have a response to that. The only thing that managed to escape her lips was an almost inaudible whisper. "You're psychotic."

That had the Joker smiling. "No. Not psychotic," he said, winking at her. "Arkham had me tested. Thoroughly. If it makes it better for you though, how about we just just call it natural selection." He grinned at his own joke and stood suddenly, nodding toward the man in the clown mask, before turning back to Poison Ivy and gesturing wildly. "Your chariot awaits." Then he was headed for the door.

"Uh, sir?"

The Joker stopped, sending a slightly annoyed glance at his minion out of the corner of his eye before turning his head ever so slightly to take in Tulley as well. "Ah," he said, turning fully toward Jeff and finally acknowledging him. His demeanor seemed to change though, lightening somewhat. At least he didn't seem to hold any malice or anger for the police officer. If anything he almost seemed to smile. "You know what, Officer...how inexcusably rude of me. I apologize for keeping you here." He turned to go, letting the man in the clown mask see to Isley. "Don't you worry though because I am a man of my word. You're free to go back to...whatever it is you do." Then he jumped down out of the back of the truck where a small girl walked up to join him.

It was the eyes that drew Jeff's attention. They were dull and lifeless...empty and at a complete contrast with the large, bright grin gracing her face. Something about her was terrifying...as though she was a child possessed. The prickle of unease immediately tingled at the base of Tulley's spine again as his body warned him of danger.

"But," the Joker said, resting his arm around the blonde's narrow shoulders, "first...how about I introduce you to little Harley here..."

* * *

><p>"So, why bats?"<p>

Selina was splayed out face down and partially across Bruce, her head resting on his chest as she stared out the windows on the far side of the room and the green countryside that stretched away to the horizon. They were both still naked, the sheets bunched up carelessly around them from their rather energetic early morning. At some point he'd pulled it up to his waist though, propping his head up against the pillows and headboard while she just seemed content to stretch out, get comfortable, and bask in the afterglow, heedless of her state of undress.

Not that he wasn't enjoying the view.

"Remember when I told you I found the caves when I was a boy?" he asked. Bruce didn't wait for any kind of confirmation from Selina to continue. "It was an accident. Happened when I fell down an old well and...they then proceeded to scare the hell out me. When I came back to Gotham I guess I wanted to bring that fear to others...to use it, fear...as a weapon. There are a lot of violent, scary people to be afraid of in this city. I wanted to create something that scared them."

Selina snickered, hey body rubbing against him as she laughed. "And you succeeded. You should hear how you're talked about. It's almost like you're a myth or something. You have no idea how close I came to peeing myself that first time I saw you."

Bruce couldn't help himself but laugh at that.

"So, how did this...all of this...happen exactly?" she asked, continuing on without looking back up at him. "I mean, I'm beginning to understand the depth your parents' death has played in your life. It was a horrible, horrible thing for a child to have to witness and I get how much something like that can affect a boy...I really do, but I still don't get the connection. No offense, but it takes a lot more than a childhood tragedy to turn someone into the Batman."

Bruce nodded and put one forearm behind his head, propping his head up further against the headboard. "And you'd be absolutely right," he said. With his free hand he drew a lazy finger up her naked spine, starting right above the curve of her hip and smiling slightly when she shivered from the touch. "It _is _kind of a long story though."

"I've got time." She purred a little as he drew his hand back against her soft skin. "Especially if you keep doing _that_."

Bruce chuckled quietly and kept his hand moving. He'd never told the whole story to anyone. Not from the beginning. Not in its entirety. Bruce and Lucius already knew most of what there was to know. At least the important pieces. Maybe there were details here and there that remained a mystery to them, but neither seemed in any hurry to know every last fact. Selina would undoubtedly be different. And somehow he knew right where to start.

"I guess in a way I owe the Batman to my oldest friend," he began. "We grew up together...played as young children in this very house." Bruce smiled and looked down at Selina, remembering the way Rachel had stood up defiantly to the Joker that one night in his penthouse. "You probably would have liked her. Like you describe Holly, she was the best person I knew. Driven, strong...full of purpose. She was crusading for change in this city when it was just about hopeless...when it was all but crippled by corruption and the strong feeding on the weak." He sighed wistfully and reached up to stroke her short hair. "Rachel was at it long before I ever returned to try and help and _she _did it without a mask and without bending or breaking the law."

"Sounds like quite a woman."

Bruce paused in his story and glanced back down at her. Was that...jealousy? She hadn't reacted much to his description of Rachel, still laying on her stomach serenely, her breasts pressed firmly against his side. He couldn't see much of her face either with it turned toward the windows, but there _had _seemed to be some kind of edge to her voice. Almost like she was being purposely insincere and not bothering with trying to hide it from him. It was curious, but he continued on, ignoring Selina's little barb.

"I was...very different back then. Angry...wanting revenge." He felt her still and stiffen against him, but continued on, moving his hand back down to her back in an attempt to be reassuring. He knew this part might strike a little close to home for her, but this was the part of his story that was nearly identical to where Selina was now. She deserved to hear it and he needed her to understand. "It came to a head for me when Chill, the man who'd killed my parents, was going to be paroled in exchange for his testimony against Alberto's father. I decided I'd had enough and finally wanted to do something about my pain." Bruce hesitated for a second, taking a deep breath. "I went to the courthouse that day to kill him," he said simply, "but one of Falcone's people beat me to it. In the aftermath I told Rachel the truth of what I'd been planning." He still vividly remembered what it'd felt like to be slapped by her, the shame she poured on him. "She told me what she thought of that rather...emphatically. Told me my father would have been ashamed." Selina shifted against his chest, adjusting herself so she could finally look back up at him. Bruce met her gaze and nodded. "And she'd have been right. He would have."

"And you expect me to believe that just like that, you were suddenly past it...the anger and need for revenge? "

"No. Not at all." Bruce shook his head, never breaking eye contact with Selina. "If anything I felt lost. The one person I'd always blamed...the one thing that I always thought would make it all go away was dead and there was just...nothing. No, what Rachel did was make me see that my parents weren't just killed by one man. She forced me to face the fact that it took a half destroyed, corrupted system to drive that single man to be so desperate. She made me see that there were plenty more out there just like Chill, being preyed upon or driven by men like Falcone to do what they did. It was men like Carmine and Maroni that killed my parents, Chill just happened to pull the trigger."

"And it took you seven years to act after that?"

"I may have understood what she said," he clarified, "but that doesn't mean I had a path. I was still directionless, running from my name and legacy. There was still plenty of pain too. Anger had replaced the guilt and sadness that dominated my younger years. So, I ran. I ran away from everything."

"And eventually found that path? How?"

"A man named Ducard came to me when I was languishing in that Chinese prison I mentioned. To this day I'm not entirely sure how he found me, but he offered me something...larger. You ever heard of the League of Shadows? Ra's al Ghul?" Selina shook her head, continuing to watch him. "It's a...fraternity of assassins led by al Ghul. Men that think themselves above normal laws and justice and that do as they please to bring their version of order to the world. Order as they see it. That's where I received my training."

"How long till you figured out they were all nuts?"

"Not till the end. Not until he tried to have me execute a prisoner...a murderer. Wanted me to prove that I was truly one of them."

"Your one rule," Selina whispered.

Bruce nodded again. "I couldn't do it. Couldn't bring myself to become...that. For years I'd trained to fight injustice, but not like that...not _that _ruthlessly. There _has _to be a difference between me and the criminals I bring down. If I'm just killing them in the streets then what good am I really doing? Am I really evoking any kind of change?"

"So, what'd you do?" Selina asked.

"I left." He ran his fingers along the curve of her slender neck and down her shoulder. "Not peacefully, but I left. Returned to Gotham and began setting things in motion."

"Your mentor couldn't have been happy that his star pupil just up and ran away."

"Oh, he wasn't," Bruce said. "You remember the fear toxin that was released into the city a few years back?" Selina nodded, her eyes widening as she turned further to stare at him. Bruce knew it had been national news the way Gotham had almost come apart at the seams. She'd undoubtedly seen something about it. Only the Batman and a timely antidote from Wayne Enterprises had kept the city from plunging into chaos.

"Jesus," she whispered. "Ra's al Ghul?"

Now it was Bruce's turn to nod. "He'd always had plans to destroy Gotham. To set society back and teach the world a lesson for getting too complacent and indulgent. Unbeknownst to me he'd originally recruited me because he wanted my help doing it. By the time he finally made his play I was just icing on the cake."

Selina looked down, resting her chin on his sternum as she pondered something. "That was also when Wayne Manor burned down, right? Like...the same day...right?"

Bruce nodded and moved his hand back up to her hair, running his fingers through the short black strands. "Yep," he confirmed. "That was him too."

"Huh."

His hand stilled. "What?"

"Nothing," she said. "Just another example of Bruce Wayne, the moron, biting the dust. How have you had the energy to keep that up all this time? I mean, I really can't believe you've kept this act up for so long. I don't know how you do that. It's got to be maddening sometimes."

Bruce shrugged and let his hand fall a little lower, brushing against the side of her breast and drawing a soft inhale from the woman lounging across from him. "A lot of the stories you hear are nothing but fabrications. Concoctions to reinforce the perception. Me and Alfred have actually gotten pretty good about cooking those things up. You'd be surprised how far some money and an imagination can get you."

Selina nodded against his chest, her body vibrating slightly as she chuckled. "Like the vacation with the entire Russian ballet? That one was kinda preposterous...even for you."

"Actually, that one was kinda true." Selina turned to stare at him. Okay so maybe it was a bit more of a glare than a stare. The newspapers _had _been pretty...explicit in what they'd cooked up going on on his yacht. One publication had even gone so far as to dub it the 'Love Boat'. "In my defense it was a bit more of a business trip than the tabloids knew about."

The look on her face told him she knew exactly what 'business' meant. "You're kidding?"

"Nope. I was actually in Hong Kong for all but a day or two of that trip."

"Wait." Selina sat up more fully, heedless of her state of undress as she turned to face him, still leaning in close. "So, you had a boatful of young, eager, scantily clad, very flexible women and you went galivanting off to play superhero?" Bruce just smiled at her. "Unbelievable," she said, shaking her head.

"What can I say? I guess I don't lack for focus."

Selina smirked and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against his lips before pulling away. "While I could never question your focus or drive," she began, moving a long leg languidly over him so she was straddling Bruce, still leaning forward and still staring into his eyes, "if it wasn't for last night I might be tempted to wonder about your manhood after a story like that."

Bruce grinned. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, moving to kiss her.

Things were just beginning to build again, his arm wrapped around her as she pressed herself against him when Selina suddenly broke the embrace, resting her forehead against his with her eyes closed as she breathed hard. After a second she let out a shaky breath.

"You realize this isn't going to work, don't you?"

"What isn't?"

"Us," Selina said quietly. "This. I still have every intention of killing that man. Nothing you can say can change that. And I'm not gonna let you stop me. Bruce, I _have _to do this."

"And I _know_ you feel that way. I respect that." He reached up and kissed her forehead before returning his to where they were resting against one another. "Selina, just...there's _always _another way. You're hurting...I get that...and I'll do everything I can to be there for you. To support you. Just don't feel like you're trapped in this course of action. Please." Bruce hesitated, but decided to use himself as an example again. "I was able to get past it," he said.

She sighed again, as though she wanted to believe him with every fiber of her being but couldn't. "Except in my case it actually _was _the monster that killed my family," she finally said. "There wasn't some witless underling or accident or poor, unfortunate soul involved. Alberto murdered her on purpose because he wanted to. Hell, he enjoyed it dammit. Took pleasure in every last piece. There's no explaining that away or finding some deeper meaning. It just is what it is and it's all I've got."

All that she had? Really?

Bruce wasn't about to chastise her though. He didn't really have the room to. He didn't know what this was between them anymore than Selina did. There were feelings involved certainly, but he _was _the Batman. For him, that still came first. It was what drove him. It's who he was. And obviously her desire for revenge still took precedence in her life. That's who _she _was. There really couldn't be a promise of a future there. There was no devotion or commitment toward one another. The sad reality was that for people like them...such a thing may never be able to exist. There was simply too much baggage to always be in the way.

He felt Selina shudder against him, her skin pressed up against his chest as she seemed to clutch on to him even tighter. Could she be coming to the same realization?

"Selina, listen to me." Bruce reached up, putting a finger under her chin and tilting her head up so they were looking in each others' eyes. She blinked once, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm not going to tell you what to do. Okay? Really. I know what you're going through, but we're different people and these are different circumstances. I get that. All I want to do is warn you. Killing Falcone won't repair the hole. It won't get rid of the pain or guilt or whatever you feel because of Holly's death." He kissed her softly for a second, letting his lips linger on hers before pulling back. "I don't want to see you become someone...something you're not. Okay? Just think about that. What you feel is completely justifiable and I am no better a person than you...because I've felt it too. All I can ask is that you really think about it. Think about what you want your life to be, not just what you think it _has _to be."

The smile that fleetingly crossed her face was sad, but genuine. The light in her eyes though stayed after the expression had passed, warmly watching him as one hand ran up his arm over one of his old scars.

"I'll try," was all she would say. Then she kissed him again, pressing down against Bruce as things once again quickly began to become more urgent, his hands roaming over her skin. "Make me forget about things for awhile," she whispered into his ear as Bruce dotted kisses along her jaw and down her neck. Her fingers curled in his hair as she pulled him closer, angling her head to give him even more. "Take me somewhere else, Bruce."

Selina giggled as he rolled them both over, clutching at his back and smirking up at him when his weight pressed her down into the bed, her legs intertwining around him as he returned to Selina's neck. Neither of them noticed Bruce's cellphone vibrating on the nightstand nearby, a device that would go unheeded for hours.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Lot's of Bruce/Selina in this one. Hope you liked it and that's probably about as steamy (explicit) as these two crazy kids are gonna get in this story. _

_Joker's back too. Gee...think he just might have something big planned? I know it's just another cameo, but he WILL become a bigger fixture...and it might be sooner than you think. Oh, and what're the odds we ever see Tulley alive again after his little intro to the Harlequin? I'm thinking not so good.  
><em>


	45. Chapter 45

_Merry Christmas. My present to all of you...a new chapter. My most sincere apologies that I've kept you waiting this long.  
><em>

_Reviews only take a second and make things so worthwhile for us authors. So, take a second and let us know what you think. Insight is always welcome and encouraged and they certainly provide additional incentive to get that next chapter out.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>Filtered, hazy orange light seeped through the partially closed drapes of the darkened room as the sun gradually receded in the west, bouncing off the room's mirror's and reflective surfaces and casting the drapes and carefully arranged antiques in a soft, warm light before its beam finally reached the solitary figure in the bed.<p>

Selina blinked when it fell across her face, tightly closing her eyes and turning over, away from the unwanted interruption to her slumber. When the intrusion didn't go away, a reluctant, half cracked eyelid told her the adjacent side of the bed was cold and empty, long absent the man she'd fallen asleep next to.

Somehow she wasn't all that surprised.

She blinked a few more times, allowing her pupils time to adjust to the dimly lit room before she sighed and sat up, clutching the warm sheets around her. No light under the bathroom door either and everything was quiet. So, Bruce was good and truly gone.

Again, not shocked.

Frankly, she'd like to think she had a little more allure than that, a little more draw to keep a man next to her, but something told her this particular man was anything but normal. That his compulsions and drive could and did overwrite just about everything else in his life was certainly telling. Those were probably things it would take a long, long time to understand...if ever. Motivations that even trumped a naked, willing woman in your bed.

Selina chuckled under her breath, running her fingers through the disarray that was her hair. How was this her life?

Hesitantly, loath to leave the warmth and softness, she got out of bed, padding across the soft carpet to spread the drapes open fully despite her state of undress. The coming sunset was already brilliant, vibrant, warm colors crisscrossing the sky and setting the smattering of clouds awash in light. Below it the darkening, wooded countryside stretched away down the hill from the manor and off toward the horizon. Selina just stood there and drank it in, hugging her arms around her as a slow smile appeared on her lips.

How long had it been since she simply stood and watched? How long since she took joy in the simple appreciation of something little?

Then she frowned and half turned to look at the bedroom door.

And just where in the hell was Bruce anyway? After the night and morning they'd had, waking up alone in a strange, gargantuan house wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind. True, she may not have been stunned by the turn of events, but still...it would have been nice to be proven wrong. Apparently the billionaire was enigmatic to a fault and all too willing to keep her guessing.

The bathroom didn't produce any further clues besides a still damp towel. There was a second, dry one though, presumably for her. Where the towel she'd dried off with earlier had gone she didn't know, but she sure as hell hadn't hung it up on their way to the bed. So...someone had taken the time to get her another one. God, she really hoped Bruce took care of things like that himself and didn't have Alfred sneaking around in the dark.

Jumping into a steaming hot shower let her wash the last remnants of sleep away while trying to work out a myriad of aches and bruises. She was finally going to get to feel the effects of the car wrecks and rough housing apparently. Fun.

She also didn't really seem to regret a minute of it.

There was still no sign of another human being when she emerged back into the bedroom still toweling off her hair. Unnoticed by her earlier, her suit and equipment were also gone from where they'd been half-hazardly discarded in the race for the shower the night before. An abbreviated search turned up nothing, leaving a completely naked Selina wondering what she was supposed to do about clothing. Sure, she wasn't exactly bashful, but running around Wayne Manor in her birthday suit wasn't necessarily appealing.

An impressively stocked closet answered the question of clothing though. One on the other side of the room was full of men's clothes for Bruce. Seriously? They'd bought her clothes? How in the hell did that even work? Leading to even more incredulity was the fact that they were more or less in her size too. Well, more or less. Honestly, Selina wasn't sure whether to be honored or kinda creeped out by the whole thing. Somebody certainly had gone to a lot of trouble.

Selina smiled and muffled a chuckle, running her fingers along the hem of one button down blouse. She'd have to be sure and thank Alfred. And update her wardrobe because some of this stuff was downright fantastic. Much better, and given her hosts, undoubtedly _much _more expensive than some of the older, worn threads she'd been carting around with her the last few years. Revenge had made shopping and concerns of fashion take a bit of a backseat unless it was directly related to keeping up the socialite appearance she had fostered a lot of the time.

Of course, generally she usually just stole what she needed in those instances.

For now she just chose to slip on a pair of casual, snug fitting charcoal pants and an almost black, baggy knit sweater with a high, pillowy collar, grabbing a pair of black boots as she walked out of the master bedroom.

Where she promptly froze.

Rows of heavy wooden doors lined the plushly carpeted hallway in either direction, punctuated by pieces of art, an occasional sculpture, or flowering arrangement. At one far end there was even the cliched suit of armor that somehow managed to seem right at home in the manor. The massive double doors of the master bedroom opened up on kind of a sitting niche in the corridor, where comfortable armchairs and a side table sat across from her in front of large, leaded glass windows overlooking the front drive.

The previous morning she hadn't exactly been paying attention when they'd made their way through the house. There had been more interesting things going on at the time and her normally keen attention to detail had been otherwise...distracted. Selina shrugged and turned right, hoping to find some stairs at the end of the hallway as she pulled on first one boot and then the other, figuring if she went far enough in one direction there had to be a set eventually. It _was _a house after all, not a maze.

Besides, she was curious just what exactly you stuck behind all those damn doors.

Twenty seconds later and she was contemplating revising her previous statement. Okay, technically it _was _still a house, but a house _so _big that it was practically maze-like. The first three doors on either side of the hall had been bedrooms. Big, fancy ones that were each probably worth more than she had to her name. Along that long, first stretch of the hallway there had also been a powder room, a walk-in linen closet, what was once probably a small office or study but now seemed more like a small art gallery, and finally a set of stairs...leading _up_.

Selina still had enough of her sense of humor to get a good laugh out of that.

Luckily, the corridor branched where the suit of armor sat flanked by columns, widening and ending in either direction at imposing double doors. She chose the left, toward the front of the house and emerged on the ornate balcony that wrapped around the upper level of the giant library.

Unlike the penthouse's modest collection there was nothing intimate or simple about this room. It housed what had to be tens of thousands of books, all of them neatly arranged on polished, carved wooden bookshelves that covered practically every wall. Across from her a large brick fireplace extended up from the floor below her, flanked on either side by soaring windows that stretched nearly thirty feet to where their pointed, arched tops nearly met the ceiling, overlooking the now shadowy gardens found to the southeast of the manor next to the gravel driveway. Below her, rich brown leather armchairs and a pair of sofas faced each other in the center of the room nearest the hearth. And at long last, in one far corner there was also an intricately designed wrought iron spiral staircase. Leading down.

"Bout damn time," she muttered good naturedly, heading around the balcony for it.

Selina took her time though, glancing at the rows of tomes lining her right side or looking out over the room where a familiar old map of Gotham City sat proudly displayed over the mantle. She remembered that from the time she'd joined Bruce on a walk through the manor following the now obviously fake attempt on Falcone's life. Bruce had shown that to her, made a point about Gotham being the direction he'd found. All this time she thought he'd meant something more...metaphorical. Something that involved helping financially or with his not inconsiderable influence. But that hadn't been it at all. No, he'd been doing something much more...direct. God, it all made so much damn sense now. So much did.

The map also meant she had at least an idea of where she was as she descended the staircase, winding her way down and then around the perimeter of the room and through the open doors on the ground floor. The same wide corridor met her there, extending off to her left and right where silent doors stood or other side hallways branched off. And still, everything was quiet.

Her newfound bearings meant one thing. The home's main entrance was to her right and down a couple hallways towards the front of the house.

Great. So, now she could escape if she wanted to, but she still had no earthly idea where anybody actually was.

Selina glanced in either direction, looking left to where she and Bruce had continued their little walk together before he'd eventually kissed her following his offer to help in finding Holly's killer. When he'd said something about hiring some people 'that are good at this to do some digging'.

Sonuvabitch. She shook her head, smiling exasperatedly. She'd taken him at face value. The little prick had had no intention of hiring anybody. He was the damn Batman, why would he? Bruce had been offering her _way _more than a couple retired cops moonlighting as private investigators. That secretive little...

Despite the cloak and dagger though she couldn't help but smile. Even then, even when he wasn't about to trust her with the truth he was ready to help her. Without question. And he'd known the type of person she was...the thief...the con-woman...and still, he'd made the very genuine, very sincere offer.

She turned left and followed the path they'd taken that day, passing the branch off to the ballroom and the previous night's escapades. Across from that intersection sat wide double doors leading into a study. At least that was a room she recognized from the previous night. That put the back staircase further ahead of her on the right.

Selina grimaced and rolled her eyes. So, she had in fact taken a wrong turn out of the bedroom. With her luck the damn stairs had been twenty feet in the opposite direction.

The smell hit her before she had to start trying to figure out what to do next though. Thankfully, the combined aroma of coffee and something savory baking leading her further into the mansion was a far cry better than anything she had up her sleeve. Selina had been down to more or less aimlessly opening every door in sight in the vain hope of discovering some other form of life. Judging by the size of the place, that would have taken awhile.

The kitchen wasn't the massive, sterile, stainless steel clad environment she half expected from such a giant building. Once upon a time this place had probably needed to feed dozens fairly regularly, a fact reflected in the scale of the room. However, there seemed to be no attempt to modernize it past that. Down the middle of the room ran a long island, it's cutting board surface looking old and weathered despite the fact that she knew it had to be only a few months old. On the far side, opposite the door she'd come in was a row of wide, trough-like white porcelain sinks set under a multi-paned window looking out at the rapidly darkening treeline. Cabinets and shelving covered the majority of the walls, eclectically arranged, but with a kind of understated, ordered function...spices there, cutlery nearby, hanging racks of well used pots and pans by the stove. The massive cooktop was centered on the wall running perpendicular to her right, the old, cast iron double oven and numerous rows of burners looking right at home under the gray, carved stone hood that stretched above all of it. It was...homey, probably having something to do with the man just to the left of the sinks. Alfred's back was to her as he worked away over the counter, faint classical music playing in the background from some unseen source.

"I suppose I should be saying good evening, given the time," he said without looking back at her. Selina smiled. How was it that Bruce and his butler always seemed to know she was there despite her light footsteps? When the older man finally turned around, wiping his hands on a faded hand towel he gave her a knowing smile. "At least it seems you managed a good night's sleep I see. Well rested?"

Selina nodded, settling on a stool that sat on her side of the large piece of butcher board. "Definitely a long night," she allowed, stretching her neck a bit until there was a slight pop. "And I needed that." She declined to mention that it had been a pretty long morning too. Something told her Bruce's butler probably didn't care to know about those kind of escapades. Or he probably already had something of an idea and the subject just generally didn't need to be broached out of common courtesy.

Alfred nodded though and stepped to the side where a French press was still steaming. He poured the contents into an old mug and moved back toward Selina. "I wasn't sure how you took it," the older man said, smiling kindly and sliding the steaming mug of coffee across to her, indicating a small cup of sugar and cream before striding back to the stovetop where something else sounded like it was boiling. "But I thought it might be in order despite the hour."

Selina cupped her hands around the beverage, basking in the warmth radiating through her palms before finally taking a sip. As expected, it was pretty much perfect. "I could really kiss you right now," Selina said, giving the butler a genuine smile.

He just waved it off as something trivial and went back to whatever concoction he was working on at the stove, dumping pieces of finely chopped tomato in the large ceramic vessel. "Managing to find your way around well enough?"

"Actually, I think some bread crumbs would really come in handy." Selina paused to take another sip, letting the warmth trickle down into her chest. "Maybe you could give me the grand tour later? And a map. Cause I swear, this place ought to have multiple zip codes." She watched him move back to the countertop and dice a bell pepper, grinning knowingly at her comment before moving on to a clove of garlic while she continued to occasionally sip at the caffeinated drink.

"Perhaps it would be in order for me to have a talk with Master Wayne about his ideas regarding hospitality," he said.

Selina just stared into her mug. "You know, it occurs to me that I don't know how just the two of you do this? Living in a place this...big. This...empty. I mean, this place...it's just...a lot."

The butler nodded. "Familiarity I suppose for one," he replied. "This house _is_ tradition...despite it no longer being the original. This place represents family both for me and Master Wayne." Alfred shrugged, looking back over his shoulder at her. "It's been this way since the death of his parents though. In a way...you get used to it. The emptiness. Believe me, it can be rather astounding just what exactly you _can _get used to given time." Selina didn't miss the glint in his eye there. The butler turned back to his meal. "It's home though. Sometimes that's all that needs be said."

Selina stared again down into the mug and the creamy brown colored liquid within, swirling it ever so slightly. How much had she gotten used to since Holly died? Granted, she'd always been a bit of a nomad, but no matter what city they'd been in there'd still been a sense of home or...something. At some point she'd become numb to the whole thing though, just accepting of her life's direction and the hardships and inconveniences she lived with on a daily basis. The purpose that drove her life had made the other things little more than minute distractions. She'd gotten used to it. The hunt.

So, what did that mean when the hunt was finally over?

She briefly wondered if it was the same for Bruce too. From what she'd seen that seemed kinda likely. His purpose in life was probably even more firmly ingrained than her's was after all. So, he just...got used to it. The big, empty house...the public's constant gossiping and scrutiny...the secrets and portions of himself he kept hidden from pretty much everyone. Forced to keep everyone and everything at arm's reach...spending life alone.

Her next sip of coffee was pretty solemn.

"Besides," Alfred continued from the other side of the kitchen's island, "neither of us generally have an overabundance of free time...as I'm certain you can imagine. We tend not to dwell on those types of things for one reason or another. Focus is not something Master Bruce lacks."

"Mind if I ask why though?" Selina finally asked, not making eye contact with him. "Why do you let him do it? Night after night...risking his life. I mean, didn't you think he was crazy?"

"Perhaps." The old man nodded, turning fully around and wiping his hands again as he leaned against the far counter. "At first I helped him simply because I was happy to have him back. Given the amount of time he was gone, to many people he was dead and, I'll admit, there were times...I even tended to agree with them. In truth, I'd probably have accepted just about any conditions when I received his call from out of the blue." He sighed and stopped his ministrations with the towel to look fully at Selina. "After a time I came to hope that this might simply be a passing fancy. Something he'd grow out of and from which he'd then move on. Obviously that hasn't happened."

"No kidding. I've seen the cave."

Alfred smiled at that. "There's been times he's been hurt where I really considered putting a stop to it though. Even if it meant going to the authorities. Even if it meant him being put away."

"What stopped you?"

"Because he's a hero." When Selina smirked he held up a finger towards her. "It's true," Alfred said, lightly scolding her. "What he does...it's thankless and punishing and yet he goes out and does it night after night anyway. He's not looking for accolades or fame. Not when he already has both. He does it because he genuinely wants to make the world a better place. Now, don't get me wrong, I want to see him move forward. I do. The wife, the family...the future. I want that for him whether he does or not. But...I can't deny the work he's doing now either. Despite what some may say, that man has saved hundreds, maybe thousands. In the end...that's what continues to stop me."

The two just watched each other for a second, Alfred with that sad, bemused look on his face. Weary acceptance Selina figured. The look of a man that had come to a conclusion that he didn't like, but one where he couldn't deny its nobility. Slowly she tilted her head and nodded her understanding. "I guess I can understand that. Can't be easy, but it makes sense."

"Well," he responded, "believe me, I still have my moments."

Selina smirked and went back to sipping her coffee as Alfred ground some pepper into whatever it was he was cooking. Faintly she felt her stomach turn as she inhaled the smells in the kitchen, reminding her how long it had been since she'd had a decent meal. The smells from the oven and stove and coffee in her hands...the warmth of the room and the friendly company...

When had this kind of peacefulness entered her life? Especially given what had just happened the previous evening. It was certainly something a girl could used to. Any girl. She quickly squashed any further machinations of exploring that train of thought. Well, she wasn't _any _girl. This wasn't...her.

Instead she stared absently out the windows into the darkness as Alfred puttered about, glancing over occasionally to watch him go about his work.

The sun was completely gone now, the view out over the grounds to the woods nothing but black. There was only the barest hint of moonlight outlining things and a hazy smattering of clouds peppering the sky. That probably meant Bruce was going out. At least from what she gathered from Alfred that seemed likely. Who knows how he treated evenings when he was entertaining company, though somehow she figured her presence might not make the biggest of differences.

"So, where is he anyway?" Selina asked the butler suddenly. She might as well try and see him before he went off risking life and limb again.

Alfred smiled. "Communing with his brethren, where else?"

* * *

><p>The cave was dark, most of the overhead lights off except for the computer monitors lighting his face as he stared, unblinking at them. Elsewhere some of the overhead lights were on as well, but they were dimmed, their output just enough to get around easily in the otherwise darkened confines. Why everything was so dark Selina didn't know. Maybe it was to appease the cave's other residents or something? She tried not to shiver when she thought of the thousands of grotesque furry rodents hanging somewhere above her in the darkness. Maybe it was his own comfort in the dark?<p>

Selina exited the lift, returning the squeaky latch to its door before emerging from the darkness of the brick archways into an almost equally dark cave. He'd _have _to know she was here. No way you could hide that considering how noisy that stupid contraption was.

"So, I had kind of an interesting experience when I woke up," she said, descending the three slight steps to the metal platform the computer banks were on. In the darkness, Bruce's gaze never so much as flickered over to her. "You know, it's really not often that _I _wake up to find an empty bed and bedroom when I'd been sharing it when I went to sleep. Generally, _I'm _the one doing that kind of thing to someone else."

At least this time he graced her with a glance. It was fleeting, but it looked like that was about all the acknowledgment of her presence she was going to get. "Sorry," was all he said. "Something came up."

It wasn't so much the words as the clipped manner in which it was said that caught her off guard. It was all so...subdued and serious. There was no hint of that playfulness or subtle humor he often had around her. Whatever 'something came up' meant, it must be something truly worthy of him being down here wrapped in darkness.

"Yeah," Selina said, letting the humor fall away from her voice. "I have a feeling that happens a lot." Bruce just nodded, still watching the screens. "Time get away from you then?"

"There were...developments this morning."

Any remaining embers of humor she may have been entertaining shriveled up immediately. "Alberto?" she asked quietly, both dreading and anticipating the answer she might get.

Instead Bruce just shook his head. "No." Selina actually blinked when she detected a clear vein of sadness in his voice. "I'm afraid it's worse."

"What..."

"The Joker hit a prison transport heading from University Hospital to Blackgate. Pamela Isley was the only passenger _and _the only one to survive. She was taken."

Selina frowned. The Joker and Ivy? Didn't he already have that crazy little remorseless pixie with him? So, why the wigged enviro-nut? Something didn't add up.

"So...what then?" she asked, finally coming around to stand behind Bruce and look at the computer screens. "She and the Joker are working together? Is that what you're getting at? Cause that just seems kind of...odd. I mean, I don't really see their motivations lining up with one another. Come to think of it I don't see his motivations lining up with pretty much anyone. Ever."

"And I'd be inclined to agree with you."

He keyed up a sequence of footage on the screen in the middle, directly in front of both of them, rewinding through some sections he'd obviously already viewed. The video wasn't high definition or anything, probably a traffic camera or something, but it showed plenty. The clip was of the back of the armored car, the doors wide open with two of the Joker's thugs standing idly around. To one side, that small, dirty blond was practically leaping from body to body, staring intently at each before straightening up and finally skipping to the back of the truck. The Joker appeared, dragging Isley behind him into the sunlight just as the small woman disappeared into the interior. The beaten redhead struggled for a second, prompting the makeup adorned psychopath to stick a gun right up under her left nostril and whisper something. The resulting look was sheer terror.

Bruce leaned back in his chair a little, pausing the footage with Isley's face frozen and twisted in fear. "That doesn't look like someone who's happy to be going with him," he said.

No. No, it really didn't. She'd seen first hand what that man could do to people when he took them and wanted something. That woman cop that Bruce had seemed to clam up over earlier being the first and foremost example in line. That haunted, frightened look before her resolve hardened. No one deserved that.

Not even Ivy.

"So, what's he want with her then? That's the million dollar question, right? I mean he's not just gonna grab her for the attention, is he? He's an attention hound, but that seems a bit...much. Even for him."

Bruce rising was so unexpected that it nearly knocked her off balance from where she'd been perched, leaning against the back of his desk chair and watching the videos and still images from over his shoulder.

"I have an idea what he's after," was all he said as he passed her, heading down the narrow walkway toward the other areas of the Batman's little den.

Selina caught up to him within six feet, falling into stride beside him. "Well, gonna share with the rest of the class?" Bruce just arched a brow and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, continuing on. Yeah, cause that wasn't slightly infuriating. "Fine. Okay," she said rather than the fairly obscene barb she'd rather throw at him for giving her the cold shoulder. "So, what then? Where exactly are we going?"

* * *

><p><em>We<em>?

Shit. She actually thought she was coming with him. That wasn't even remotely an option.

"No," he said, stopping mid step and spinning on her. "Absolutely not. Out of the question."

Selina's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I'm coming too."

"No," Bruce repeated.

Selina just smirked up at him, but he could practically feel the frustration beginning to build. "You _know _I'll just figure out a way to show up anyway, right? You're not just leaving me here."

"No," he said again, shaking his head emphatically. "I work better alone. You're staying."

Selina froze and Bruce could practically see the anger shooting down her spine as her fingers twisted into fists at her side. Shit. Rather than wait to see what happened next he turned and again began heading for the suit.

"Wait," she commanded in a low, threatening tone. Bruce was almost surprised when he actually stopped. Somehow he managed not to turn and face her though. "Am I supposed to be your prisoner here or something? Cause while I might not mind handcuffs on occasion, trying to control me is _not _going to go over well. Trust me on that. I don't answer to you. You _don't _get to tell me what to do."

"No...no, I'm not..." he sighed and ran a hand over his face, turning partially back toward Selina. She _had _to know that wasn't what he had in mind. "Listen, you're not a prisoner here. Nothing like that. Selina, please. Just...just wait here for me." He bowed his head for a second and grimaced. This next part wasn't going to go over well if she was already mentioning the term 'prisoner'. He looked back up to meet her angry gaze though, swiveling around fully so that she wouldn't think he was trying to hide something from her. "Wait here and let me have a look around. Falcone knows who you are _and _knows that we both know his secret. Of the two of us though you're the only one he can go after so let's have you lay low while I deal with it."

Selina just folded her arms, her expression remaining neutral and unreadable. "Are you in some way implying that I can't take care of myself?" she asked.

There was that defensiveness. She wasn't the type of person to like what she perceived as being 'handled' or left out. The truth of the matter was much simpler. If Alberto _had _left men behind to kill Selina, she wasn't nearly as well equipped to deal with that as he was. Not yet.

Not that she'd see it that way.

Bruce shook his head, trying to take her hand and pull her closer. When she wouldn't budge, standing there stonily and watching him he backed away.

"No," he started. "Listen, I'm not saying that at all. I _know _you can take care of yourself. Hell, I've seen it. What I _am _saying is that I'm better doing this on my own. That's all. It's really not a big deal. I'll go and check out your place, make sure he didn't leave some kind of surprise for you and report back.

Selina just continued to stare at him woodenly. "Not good enough."

Bruce ran a tired hand over his face again. Christ how he'd wanted to avoid this conversation. He'd kind of been hoping to be gone before she came looking for home for just that reason. "Selina, what do you want from me?" he asked, not making eye contact. "I'm trying to help you here...to protect you the best I can and you're making me feel like the bad guy. Look, some very dangerous men are likely out searching for you and I'm asking you to trust me to deal with that. I'm trying to help you."

She stepped forward and bent forward slightly, her right hand resting on Bruce's forearm while she looked up at him. The frustration was still there in her eyes, but there was something else too...a softness. Dammit did she look earnest too. "And I'm asking you to let me help _you_," she said quietly. "Please, you offered your help to me with finding Holly's killer and then with Alberto. Now I want to return the favor. You don't have to do this by yourself."

Working with someone else? Bruce ran the thought through his head as he continued to meet her gaze. Backup would never be a bad idea. A one man war on crime over the span of an entire city was almost foolhardy in its naivete despite the massive strides he'd helped make in Gotham. Having someone else to not only watch his back but be where he couldn't would definitely be a positive step. So, would a partner really be so bad?

It meant additional responsibility though. He'd be responsible for the life of someone else out on the front lines with him and all the danger that entailed. Someone he was close to. He'd be forced to deal with the prospect that someone else could be lost for good. Like Rachel had.

No. No, she wasn't ready. It was that simple. She didn't have the tools and resources he did. Maybe in time, but certainly not now. She didn't have the right motivations either. Would she allow innocents to die for her precious revenge? He couldn't put her out there now. Not if he valued her life.

"Just...I'm not looking for a partner in this. Okay?" Her face fell and regained its formerly wooden expression before he was even done with the sentence. Silently she stood and turned her back to him. "And even if I was, you're not ready for that. Not yet."

"Gee, thanks," she spat icily over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, but I mean it. This isn't some kind of...game, Selina. I've spent years getting to this point," Bruce said, glancing down at his hands. "Trained myself. Equipped myself. It's not something you just dive into because you're bored or you want the next adrenaline rush or because you think you can. There's more at stake and you've already shown you're not in this for Gotham."

"So?" He looked back up at her, surprised how quickly she'd agreed with him. If anything he'd expected her to try and convince him otherwise. To lie. Selina turned back to look at him again. "Yeah, okay, maybe I'm not out crusading to save this city like you. _But_," she said, holding up a finger to make her point, "maybe I want to do this for some _other _reason. Maybe I've got motivations that are more...personal. Ever think of that?"

He just stared at her for a moment before he shook his head. The implications of what she'd just said were both thrilling and terrifying. For him? She'd do it for him? But that _couldn't _change things. She could still wind up _just _as dead.

"That doesn't change my answer."

"And that doesn't change the fact that one way or another I'm coming. With or without your permission."

Bruce sighed. God this wasn't going how he'd have liked it to. He was going to surprise Selina with this dammit, not use it as a tool against her. He sighed and resigned himself to his fate.

"No," he finally said sadly, "you won't."

* * *

><p>"No, you won't."<p>

There was something in his voice, something so sure of itself and positive he was right. So final. Like he knew something she didn't. Selina stared at him accusingly, slowly running back through events until it finally dawned on her, a fact she'd brushed away as trivial earlier when she should have known better. Her stomach dropped. Her clothes were gone. Someone had taken her stuff. Her suit, her whip, her tools...

Ice flooded her veins and she took a threatening step forward.

"What'd you...Bruce, where is it?" she hissed, her voice icy and threatening.

He didn't look proud or triumphant, quite the opposite really, merely resigned to having this conversation. He also wouldn't make eye contact with her. "Not here," he said, holding up his hands placatingly before she could speak again, "_but _you'll get it all back. I promise."

Selina was seeing red. He'd stolen from _her_. She'd been at her most trusting, at her most intimate and exposed and he'd betrayed that, taking from her because of some kind of misplaced...chivalry? Because he knew what was right and damn what anyone else wanted?

"Oh, you're _damned_ right I will," she spat, stepping forward aggressively. The knuckles on her fists were white with pent rage at her sides. "_Now. _I want it back _now._ All of it. That's _mine._You had no right..."

Bruce continued to hold his hands up apologetically. "It's actually not what you think. Okay? I didn't have it planned like this...to keep you held hostage or something. And you're not. I'm sorry, but it just kind of...happened this way, alright? I was trying to do something nice."

Selina's jaw dropped, but the anger didn't recede. Was he actually trying to defend his actions? "_Nice_?" she hissed. "Doing something nice? You stole from me. How is that in any way doing something nice."

"Not stealing. Borrowing. I said you'd get them back."

So, he was gonna take her stuff just long enough to keep her grounded? Was that the plan? And did that mean this was going to happen every time she wanted to help? Was this going to happen when she finally got Alberto back in her sights?

Selina spun around, stalking off while she ran her hands through her hair. "Yeah, cause that makes it so much better. Semantics, Bruce."

"Do you trust me?"

"You _know _I do," she responded immediately, yelling it at him without thinking. Selina's eyes got big when she realized exactly what she'd just conveyed though, some of the tension draining out of her shoulders, but she continued to face away from him. "Yeah, unfortunately." Dammit if that didn't just blow away a good chunk of her argument. After what he'd already done she couldn't...wouldn't let him see her this vulnerable.

Huh.

She really did trust him though. That set her back a bit. She, Selina Kyle, actually trusted the man that had been lying to her from the very beginning. The man that had deceived her at every turn. That hid the biggest secret since...well, since the damned Manhattan Project from her. That was certainly...eye opening. But there it was all the same. She did.

His hand on her shoulder made her jump the slightest bit. "Then trust me here," he said softly from right behind her. "With this. You'll get your equipment back, I promise. It's a...it's a surprise."

Selina rolled her eyes, turning back to face him. The anger was still there somewhere beneath the surface, but her own admission had forced some wind out of her sails. So, she just glared at him. "I don't like surprises, Bruce."

"You'll like this one."

"Why though? _Why _won't you let me help? You talk about helping me, hunting down Alberto and bringing me closure despite our differences. You go and show me all...this," she said, gesturing around at the cave and the elaborate equipment surrounding them, "You let me in, tell me the truth and then won't accept that I might want to lend _you _a hand? What the hell is that? You obviously didn't show me this on a whim. I mean, what'd you expect?"

"It's not that simple."

"Then explain it to me. Use small words if that's what it takes, I don't care. Just make me understand."

Bruce just watched her for a while silently. Selina just returned the favor, ready to win the battle of wills. At times, even with all his closed off expressions you could still see a subtle play of emotions behind his eyes. Now was one of those moments. He was deciding something. To lie to her? To come clean?

"The Joker..." Bruce said slowly, whispering it quietly, "he took something from me...destroyed it. Destroyed a part of me. He...he took _her _just to try and see if he could break me. Just to see if I'd become something...else. To see if I'd cross that line and become the villain. To him it was just some kind of joke or a...a challenge." Bruce turned away from her, leaning against the steel handrail nearby and looking out over the darkened cave. "Selina, I...it's not something I plan on going through again. I can't risk it. I won't."

"Rachel," Selina whispered. Bruce slowly nodded. She took a tentative step forward, reaching out hesitantly to touch him, but he still wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Can you just understand that and let it be?"

"Bruce, you know I'm not her, right? Okay? Hey." Selina let her fingers move over his chin, trying to pull his face to look at her. When it moved and his eyes met her she held his gaze. "I'm not going to become some pawn to be used against you. I'm a fighter. Always have been. I know what I'm doing."

"Far too many people have said that before only to have _him _prove just how wrong they are. That's what he does. Right now he doesn't know about us. Doesn't know about you. That there's a connection. But if he does..."

"Then we don't let him find it."

"You know you can't guarantee that."

"Fair enough," Selina allowed. The Joker _had _single handedly terrorized an entire city. She wasn't exactly well versed in dealing with _that. _Then again who was? Well, besides the man standing across from her.

"But you can't keep me here," she said instead, "secured away in your little castle." Selina allowed a look around at their surroundings, the bare rock walls, dripping water, and distant squeak of the place's native inhabitants blending together and arched an eyebrow. "Although given the present decor maybe dungeon is a better metaphor. But whatever. Anyway, that's not you and that sure as _hell _isn't me. We don't do staying in and being locked down. We don't deal in unknowns. I think you both know we're fighters."

"Then what do you suggest?"

Selina just looked at him. Really? He was asking _her_? The woman who'd coasted and sweet talked her way through a life of cheating and breaking the law? Hell, she didn't know how to even begin to approach this. A city in danger, people's lives at stake, a psychopath on the loose...

But then again, maybe that _was_ the point. Everyone always assumed the Batman knew what he was doing. That he was infallible. Well...except for that little transgression where they all thought he was a murderer. Still, the sense of him being larger than life was greater than ever these days. In what little the public knew or saw of him he'd never blinked from a challenge or backed down from a hard decision. Never failed. Even when he _was _supposedly a criminal. But was the reality far different? Was Bruce just making things up as he went along too? It wasn't like there was a blueprint for any of this. He'd simply never screwed up bad enough that things caught up to him.

Unfortunately that kind of sounded like a dance one could only maintain for so long before it caught up to you.

Selina sighed. There really was no answer, so she shrugged. Trust and fate would have to do then. She'd lived her life with them, why stop now? "We take this like we're taking us," she said simply, looking up at him from behind her lashes. "One day at a time, but...together. No labels, no expectations, but we're both a part of this. You have to acknowledge that now. Remember, _you _let me in. You made me a part."

"I was serious when I said I don't do partners, Selina."

She rolled her eyes at that. Seriously? He was still throwing that at her. "Okay, fine," she allowed. "So, not partners then. Just someone there to help out if the time comes and it's needed. You know, to watch each others' backs. I'm not out to save the city and you're not out to kill Falcone. But...there may be times we need support. Simple."

Bruce arched an eyebrow but at least seemed to consider her proposal. He obviously knew that trying to control her wasn't going to work. He might be Bruce Wayne _and _he might be the Batman, but no man got away with that when it came to her. He may also not have a plan, but at least they could work together instead of butting heads. Their life expectancy might actually rise a couple percentage points in that case.

"You know it won't be simple," he finally whispered.

Selina just stared at him, her eyebrow arched sarcastically. "Yeah, cause our whole lives just scream simple at this point, don't they? Listen, it is what it is, but you decided to tell me the truth for a reason, right? You asked me if I trust you. Well, I think you trust me too, otherwise I wouldn't be here right now. Let's try continuing that, shall we? Not partners, but trusting one another with each others' backs."

Bruce didn't respond, his features still screwed together in a very obvious opinion of what he thought of the idea, but his head begrudgingly moved a fraction of an inch, nodding.

"Great," Selina said, "now where's my stuff?"

"I told you it's a surprise."

"I'm gonna kill you. I really am."

"And I'll still be back later."

"Yeah," she replied. "And apparently I'll still be here."

* * *

><p>"You don't have anything."<p>

For once Bullock avoided choking on his coffee or visibly jumping when the gruff voice suddenly announced the vigilante's presence. The unannounced arrival wasn't exactly surprising. The bastard always did that. Like he was making a point to startle the shit out of whoever was on the roof waiting for him so he could prove his superiority or something. The worst part though was that no matter how alert and prepared they were he never failed to make them jump.

Harvey cursed his own rapidly beating heart under his breath as the dark shape materialized out of the shadow nearby, silently dropping to the rooftop, but making no move to step any closer.

Of course, the statement itself also grated on him. Did he really think so little of them that he just routinely kept everyone waiting into the wee hours of the night? It certainly didn't help that the Commissioner just played along and let him get away with whatever he wanted either. And then to imply that they were useless, ready to give him nothing? Like it was all up to him to save the day. Christ, he didn't spend close to a decade in the Army Rangers to put up with this kind of bullshit from a man who wouldn't even show his face.

It didn't help matters, or his mood, that they really didn't have any leads either. He _hated _it when the Batman was right too.

"So, what?" he said coolly, keeping his annoyance hidden. Hopefully. Harvey took a sip of the now lukewarm coffee in his hand and shot his best glare at the armored man. "You just assume we're incompetent then? Too stupid to chew gum and walk...much less do our damn jobs with any degree of competency. That we desperately need you to come to our rescue and save us all from shooting ourselves in the foot or somethin'."

For once Gordon didn't leap to his little buddy's defense, choosing to stay quiet as he reached over to turn off the now famous spotlight. Bullock couldn't see the masked man's eyes, but he could feel them on him all the same.

"If you had something you wouldn't be contacting me," came the growled response.

Before Harvey could come up with some kind of response...one likely filled with a whole lot of expletives and threats...Gordon rested a tired hand on his shoulder, friendly patting it once before directing his gaze back to the Batman.

"We're stuck," the older man said simply. "The bastard took Isley and disappeared. As of now they're ghosts and we've got nothing."

His superior nodded to the Lieutenant and Harvey ground his teeth, biting back another curse as he shoved his balled fists deep into the pockets of his overcoat. They'd come up here together...granted, one more reluctant than the other... but they _had _agreed to share what they did know. Bullock didn't have to like it, but even to him it seemed like they might need the freak's help. After that...

"Found the vehicles and weapons used about fifteen blocks away from the bridge, all burned out," he started, kicking some loose gravel with his heel. "Lab geeks say phosphorus grenades. High end stuff. Military uses it...some construction uses too. Shit burns hot and all but melts anything it touches. Left a helluva mess and wiped out any evidence there may have been. Trucks are probably a dead end too. I'd guess stolen, but we're in the process of checking on them anyway. I'd be fucking shocked if we're able to lift a print or DNA or anything off them either given their state, but we'll try anyway.

The Commissioner nodded and turned back to the masked man. "Nothing at the scene either. We'll probably be able to match spent casings to the weapons even though the guns are burned, but that's pretty inconsequential. Traffic cameras at the scene caught it all, but they were already disabled starting two blocks away and extending out. Looks like he wanted us seeing the crime, but made sure to cover his escape.

"He wanted us to know it was him."

Gordon nodded at the Batman's declaration. "Same as the mob banks he used to rip off. Likes to show off his face."

Harvey crossed his arms. The whole point of the little get together was to compare notes. To see if the Batman had anything to add. "So, you got anything to add? We're all ears."

"Not about the Joker."

Pretty much what he'd expected. Useless.

"So, what then?" he asked. "We wait until he blows something else up or kills a few more? That the plan? See if he decides to take out a cancer ward or somethin' this time?"

"You know we'll do everything we can, Harvey," Gordon said. He made a special point to look at the masked vigilante, including him in that assessment. "All of us." His voice though didn't sound all that confident.

The Batman nodded. "I'll look into it. There'll be something."

"Right. Use one psycho to catch another. Why am I somehow not relieved?"

The Commissioner frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Bullock..."

"He's a sociopath," the Batman growled, "not a psychopath. The Joker's _not _the kind of crazy you think he is. That's what makes him so much more dangerous. He's got a plan. It may not make sense to us, but there's reason there. He has something in store for the explosives exactly the same way he has something in store for Isley. We just can't see it yet. Be careful not to underestimate him. We already did that once and it almost brought down the city."

"Whatever."

The Batman turned to leave and then seemed to think better of it, glancing back over his shoulder at the Commissioner.

"Start digging into Alberto Falcone's life," he growled. "You might be interested what you find when you go deep enough."

Gordon's head shot up. "Wait, what? Falcone? He's not exactly high on our priority list right now. What is this?" The Batman remained silent. "You know, it'd take a lot less time on our end if we had an idea what we were looking for. Mind letting us in on the secret? I think it's about time."

"Falcone's Black Mask."

Both police officers just stared at him for a moment. It went without saying that the Batman wasn't a man to joke around. Nor was he someone that made things up. Falcone's infamous familial relations notwithstanding the man was squeaky clean as far as they knew. Bullock had even run him through the FBI and Interpol databases to be sure when he'd first shown his face in Gotham.

"You're sure?" the Lieutenant managed. "The man's better connected than his father ever hoped to be _and _it's with people that are pretty freakin' untouchable. If you want us digging into his affairs you'd better be damned sure cause the Mayor will put a boot up our asses if you're wrong.

"I'm not."

Gordon frowned. "And I'll need a bit more to go on than that," he said.

"Check the yacht at the bottom of the bay. It belongs to Falcone through a front corporation. Look into Sionis Industries. The trail starts there."

This time Bullock couldn't help it. Had the man just admitted to...

"Fuck, that was you, wasn't it?" he asked, his blood pressure rising. When the masked man said nothing he threw his hands up. "I should have known. So, you sink a goddamn boat in the middle of one of the busiest waterways on the planet and now we're just magically expected to clean it up, aren't we? Are you friggin' insane? You put a hundred foot yacht at the bottom of the damn shipping lane. Millions of pounds of cargo goes through there daily. The harbormaster's gonna be diverting around to the south entrance for months because you decided you wanted to make something go boom."

"There were complications. Falcone had a captive. There was no other choice."

"A captive?"

The Batman turned toward Gordon. "She's safe."

"And I think I'm gonna need just a bit more than that. Like a name for starters."

The vigilante seemed to consider that for a moment before finally answering. "Catwoman."

Again, the two men just stared at him for a moment. "Wonderful," Bullock eventually hissed. "Her. Seriously? What the hell does she have to do with all this?"

"She's staying tight lipped."

Gordon groaned, again pinching the bridge of his nose to fend off his latest oncoming headache. "And what about Falcone himself?"

"Somewhere in Europe. Probably England or Italy. I'm working on it."

Bullock threw his hands up in the air, stomping back away from the other two men. "Fucking unbelievable," he spat.

Seriously? The man was responsible for probably two dozen criminal violations for the yacht stunt alone, most of which would undoubtedly be felonies. He was also going to cost the city and numerous corporations millions in delayed shipments for blocking the sound, not to mention the work to remove the wrecked hulk from the frigid waters. Oh, and now he'd also succeeded in letting one of the city's biggest mob bosses get away scot free to what was likely a non-extradition country. Absolutely wonderful.

The Commissioner just ignored him though. "And I assume you'll go after him once you know more? Bring him back for prosecution?"

The Batman nodded. "Once the Joker's been dealt with."

Gordon just continued to nod, oblivious to Harvey's own blustering. How the man just...just...went along with all this was unbelievable. Half the police force knew they went back a ways. Back before Carmine Falcone's downfall even. Long before Gordon was Commissioner and when Harvey was still a beat cop. Obviously in that time they'd been through a lot together. Strong bonds were forged with less he supposed. But still...

"If we're going to take down Falcone I'm gonna need a statement from her. Will she be willing?"

"Doubtful," the Batman said.

Somehow it didn't come as much of a surprise that asking a woman to remove her mask, reveal her identity to the world, and testify against a potential mass murderer wouldn't go over well. The fact that she probably had outstanding warrants for her arrest for previous transgressions didn't exactly help matters. The mask was there for a reason.

"Then do you have anything else to give us?" Gordon asked. "Your word isn't exactly going to be enough to satisfy a judge. We'll need something concrete. Something that'll stick. We're only gonna have one shot at this."

"You'll have it."

"And what about Nigma?" Both Gordon and the Batman turned their attention on him, the Commissioner's brow furrowing questioningly. "What?" Harvey asked. "He's still posing as a cop right under our noses. With his boss out of the way and on the run I say we bring him in. Unless we're all choosing to forget it, the man's still a cop killer. I say it's about time he answers for that."

The Commissioner nodded in agreement. "Bullock's right," he admitted. "We don't need to lay off him now. Besides, he may also be able to provide us insight into Falcone's operation. Give us the evidence we need," he said, thinking aloud as he processed the request. "Could be big."

The Batman didn't seem all that excited by the prospect though. "Nigma's not stupid," he offered. "He'll have plans in place in case he was discovered. It's dangerous. Especially if it's rushed."

Harvey scoffed. He'd been arresting criminals for the better part of fifteen years. Who was this little pissant to question his abilities? He wasn't some rookie cop from the armpit of middle America or something. He needed Gordon to listen to reason.

"Let me do it and it'll be hard enough and fast enough that his head'll still be spinning by the time he can conjure a coherent thought. He won't be able to react, much less do much of anything about it. Little creep doesn't scare me."

The masked man's glare didn't shift an iota. "Don't underestimate him. He's been one step ahead of us this entire time."

"What are you thinking?" Gordon asked, his arms crossed. For once the Commissioner seemed to be on Bullock's side at least, frowning at the Batman.

"I'll look around for a few days. Defuse any plan he has before he has a chance to put it into effect. You can apprehend him once it's safe."

"No," the Lieutenant blurted out before turning to his boss. If it came across as pleading he didn't care. No way was he going along with this. Waiting any longer was idiotic and he did _not _need the man's help in doing his job. "_Hell_ no. Fuck that. The man's a damned cop killer. I say we've given him enough time already. Listen, we already let him walk around right in front of us rubbing our noses in it and everything. We take him now or he may wind up bolting." He pointed at the caped man in black. "I am _not _letting this little prick get away so you can pussy foot around and risk tipping him off."

"No."

"Oh really?" Harvey took a step toward the towering, armor clad man. There was little doubt who'd win in an altercation, but it wouldn't be for lack of trying. He didn't like to be talked down to by anyone. Least of all some freak in a mask who felt himself outside the law.

"I'll give you twenty four hours," the Commissioner said suddenly. Though he was a little surprised Bullock couldn't help but send a self satisfied grin the Batman's way. It'd take time to coordinate the grab anyway. May as well let old pointy ears have his fun too. "I don't want that man around my people anymore. I'll give you a day to figure out any backup plans he has in place, but that's it. I want him in custody. Now. We'll take the chance."

"And if you're wrong?"

Gordon didn't have an answer for that one. He just stood where he was, his back to the Batman and Harvey as he stared off into the night, the city glowing all around them.

When the Lieutenant turned to see the vigilante's reaction there was nothing there. Despite standing merely seven or eight feet away he'd disappeared without a sound. Fucking typical.

"You don't really get the last word in with that guy, huh?"

The Commissioner looked back, and saw the empty rooftop. He smiled thinly, but the worry lines stayed where they were. "You have no idea."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Again, Merry Christmas to all. I hope it finds you all well and amongst family and friends.  
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_Trust me, this story still isn't going away. Life has found a way to intercede again, but I'm still here and kicking. Between work, the holidays, and the serious ongoing family medical problems (not mine...family) I've been busy and a bit...distracted. Taken on a lot lately. Stuff that simply must take precedence over this despite how much I'd rather work on it. Here's hoping things find a way to quiet down a bit with the new year.  
><em>

_Also, out of curiosity...I just saw a readership spike in the last couple weeks. I'm just curious, am I missing something? I haven't updated in months so how did some of you new readers come across this story? Just a random question. Let me know.  
><em>


	46. Chapter 46

_Another long break between chapter. The good news though? I already have a good 15% or so of the next chapter written. Originally it was going to go in this chapter, but then I realized it was going to break things up awkwardly. Can't have that. Thus, this one becomes a little shorter, but there should be less time between updates. Yay compromise. _

_Please be sure to leave a review if this be worthy. They really are all kinds of awesome and I make sure to answer every last registered review I receive. Thoughts? Questions? Ask away. They'll all get answered. I always enjoy interacting with you guys.  
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A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>"I assume you're thinking about the explosives then?"<p>

Bruce ignored the instinct to nod and continued staring out evenly across the chasm of Wesley Avenue at the tower across the street. "It makes sense that it would be for his escape plan," he replied. "Nigma wouldn't want that to be subtle. Or clean. For once something messier would better suit his need."

This section of the city still retained some of Gotham's historic charm and those ingrained memories of a time before crime and desperation were rampant. Of a time when the metropolis still gleamed. Buildings with real stone and brick could still be found here. Old structures that somehow managed to weather the downturn and rot where others hadn't. Decorated with true craftsmanship and artistry, they still punctuated the skyline occasionally, sandwiched between the generally larger, more sleek pillars of modern glass and steel.

Bruce liked these older buildings, sometimes even wishing Wayne Enterprises itself echoed this safer, more proud time. While his company's headquarters wasn't exactly new, it still didn't have the heritage or gothic feel of some of these. His family's headquarters had outgrown a building like this during his great grandfather's reign long ago. There simply weren't any large enough to house the globally spanning corporation it had become.

He took a look at the gargoyle he was perched next to and allowed a small smile. There also weren't many places in the city where he could hide in plain sight anymore. The old gothic architecture somehow went right along with his normal nighttime garb right down to the pointy ears.

"I suppose the appropriate question then is where?" Alfred chimed in in his ear, snapping him back to the discussion at hand. "The Commissioner's residence perhaps?"

"No," Bruce whispered, directing his attention back to surveilling Selina's hotel room. "Too unpredictable. He can't guarantee Gordon's family will be home. Nigma's target has to be something that will serve as a deterrent twenty four hours a day or it risks being useless."

"Well, it will have to be something big given the amount of explosives he purchased. Assuming he can even find somewhere to hide all of it what does that leave?"

In the darkness Bruce just stared blankly, allowing his mind to whir as he cycled through possibilities. He knew enough about Nigma to make educated guesses as to his thought processes. It risked lives, but with little concrete evidence there wasn't much else to go on.

"We're assuming he's only got one target," he finally said, speaking slowly. His mind continued working as he spoke quietly into the swirling winds. "There's always the possibility he could have more, but Nigma's never been one for wanton destruction so I'd bet against that. It's about the statement, not the collateral damage." He cocked his head as more insights flooded his mind, being alternately cataloged or dismissed. "Either way, he'd need to be able to remotely detonate things. Otherwise what's the point? It'll be somewhere near enough that he can be sure of a good signal too while also being a location where the merest threat will hit home."

"Hit home to whom, sir?"

He ignored his old friend, continuing on out loud as he tried to find some kind of insight into the Riddler's mind. "To stop me or the police the target could be anything with enough of a potential body count. He knows we won't trade innocent lives for him. Not an office tower. They'd probably be too empty at night. Apartment building then? Something more symbolic? Killing innocents hasn't been his style though. It's a game to him, but he's always been careful...precise. There's nothing in his records to indicate attacks on a random populace. Never people that could be termed as non-combatants. Not specifically at least..."

"Jesus," said a familiar feminine voice. "He's gonna blow up the freakin' police, alright? There. Done."

Bruce frowned, mildly annoyed at being interrupted. Obviously _she'd _stuck around in the cave after he'd left. It was a chain of events he should have foreseen. Even safely tucked away there she was still going to make sure she wasn't left out of the fun. Not her. "Selina," he offered through slightly grit teeth. "Something to add?"

"Sorry," she said, completely unapologetically. In his mind he could even see her shrugging indifferently. "You were gonna get there eventually, but I got kinda tired of waiting."

"Just..." another deep breath. "Just explain."

"Well...I mean it's nothing concrete. I guess it's...it's kinda what I'd do. Sort of. If I had absolutely no conscience and was into killing people indiscriminately and stuff like that. Okay, he needs a way to get away and keep the cops occupied since they'll be all over him, right? Well, it serves both. He already works there. Big enough bang in the right location and it makes for a pretty good way to sneak out while they're trying to sift through the rubble and chaos."

Silence hung in the air for a while as all three people waited for someone else to speak while they pondered what she'd said. Selina, ever the chatty one finally broke the stillness.

"Granted, it's not really my style...but then again neither is getting caught."

Bruce bit his tongue against bringing up the elder Thorne's office or the events in Falcone's foyer _or _the entire kidnapped by the Black Mask thing. While Selina was plainly a very capable woman she'd definitely seemed to bite off more than she could chew thus far with Gotham. Yet another reason why it was better if she left this kind of work to him.

The police made sense though. He had to begrudgingly give Selina that. They'd be the ones most likely to come for Nigma. Especially since he was almost always amongst them. While Nigma couldn't rule out the Batman either there was really no way to strike at him personally. Not without uncovering his actual identity and there'd been no signs of that occurring. With a man as intelligent as him, Bruce had actually made efforts to look for any signs of digging too. Nobody out of the ordinary had been looking into Bruce Wayne though.

So, Nigma would have to rely on a deterrent for the Batman. He'd have to rely on the vigilante's desire to save lives being stronger than his desire to capture the Riddler.

That provided a likely _what_, but no real answer for the _where_. The GCPD had dozens of precincts and station houses scattered throughout the city. Any one could be an effective target. The smallest, least staffed could probably be eliminated as possibilities though. As could the ones furthest away from the city center. They wouldn't make big enough targets or would require fairly significant signal strength. But that still left a lot. He needed a way to further narrow down the...

He needed to sneak away if he was forced to press the button. Selina had hit on that. On the bomb being used as more than just a deterrent. On the possibility of it being set off and the effect that its detonation would have.

"Selina," he asked quickly, "what did you say before? About sifting through the rubble?"

"Umm," she started, stalling. "Okay...you mean besides that it would be an absolute mess?" The line hung silent for a few seconds as she likely continued to gather her thoughts. "I don't know. I just think it'd be easier to make a getaway if there was a lot of dust and debris and mayhem and stuff. Cause some chaos and slip away, you know? That kinda thing. I do it all the time. Granted, I'm usually stirring up a commotion amongst a bunch of uptight old tightwads at some pretentious party, but I think the overall idea is still pretty solid. At least in theory."

Huh. Bruce blinked. Maybe he'd have to revise another of his preconceptions about Selina. The point of view of an expert thief apparently had its uses. Nigma's best target probably _was _Police Plaza and the MCU itself. It was where the fake detective he'd cooked up for himself worked and subsequently spent a great deal of time. It was where the GCPD's motor pool, command center, crisis center, and dispatch were all located. Hell, even the special tactics teams had their headquarters in the old building. Leveling that would not only cripple the police, it would make coordinating the resulting disaster response and manhunt for Nigma all but impossible should he manage to get away.

Of course, flattening a building the size of Police Plaza was daunting in its own right. Nigma had enough to bring it down. More than enough if he used an agent like fertilizer to increase the bomb's destructive power. No, the difficult part was finding the structural weak points to do the job. A building the size, construction, and age of GCPD's headquarters was built to last. It wouldn't be coming down easily.

Somehow, he didn't figure that would stop the Riddler though.

Bruce checked the timepiece set into the gauntlet below the small LCD screen. Dawn was too close now. He wouldn't have the time to break in and look around thoroughly. So, that just left a building the size of a city block and a few precious hours the next evening to mount a search before Gordon's self inflicted time limit was up.

He needed another way.

"Alfred," he began, "compile the blueprints for Police Plaza, the MCU, and the rest of the Civic Center for me," he said. "Go back as far as you can. Pull the other major precincts nearby too, just in case. I'm gonna need to look for key structural points when I get back. I'm also gonna need you to scan for various wavelengths in that general area? The Wraith should be capable of that. Radio, Cellular, Wireless, whatever. You're gonna get a ton, but try and triangulate and log them anyway and let's see if we can't find something out of the ordinary."

"I...yes, sir. And what about the surveillance?"

Bruce glanced up. He couldn't see the Wraith in the darkness, but it was somewhere high up there in the darkness providing him another vantage point. Unfortunately, its electronic countermeasures package would be needed downtown if Alfred was to get anything done there.

"Give me another pass and then get going," he replied.

"Of course, sir."

The view banked again, moving east to west as it came around for another pass. Because she occupied a corner room with windows looking out over the city in two directions they'd have clear line of sight for almost one hundred and eighty degrees.

"Looks peaceful," he heard Selina comment dryly.

He had to agree. From where Bruce sat everything was dark and quiet. Despite having been in his position for over an hour there had been no discernible movement inside. No one opening the hotel room's door or patrolling the nearby area. Even the front entry far below him had been especially quiet.

And then you turned on the thermal imaging and got a completely different story.

"At least they have the good sense to not move around a lot," came the next observation from Selina. "I swear to god though, they better not have touched my stuff."

Bruce nodded his agreement and watched the scene rotate slowly on his gauntlet as the Wraith made its final orbit. "They're patient," he whispered. "Not Falcone's normal men judging by their lack of heavy weaponry, but not the usual low level gang members either. Good vantage points and clear line of sight to the door. Effective. Whoever they are they have at least a little experience in this stuff, but they're not quite his usual pros."

"Seriously?" came Selina's reply. "While my feelings are a little hurt that they didn't feel like they needed to break out the big guns for me, you're basing all that off the fact that they didn't come ready to overthrow a small country. You realize that, right? I'll give you that they usually pack some pretty impressive artillery, but did you think that maybe they just decided not to bring the assault rifles and bazookas this time? They _are _awfully hard to hide and all. You got anything else?"

Bruce raised his monocle to peer back into the hotel room. "Number three is fidgeting."

He was met with silence on the radio.

"Okay...umm...and?" she finally offered.

"He's either nervous or bored. Or both."

There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line. Bruce should have known being cryptic would annoy Selina. Not that he was about to change that. "Riiiight," she breathed. "Okay, I'll bite. And what the hell can you tell from that?"

He safely tucked the magnification device away and stood up, taking one last glance down toward the nearly deserted avenue below.

"That I can make him talk."

* * *

><p>Christ it was dark.<p>

If not for the ambient light cast in by the city lights the damn hotel room would've been so black he wouldn't have been able to see his hand in front of his face. As it was, even with his eyes long since adjusted to the darkness there wasn't much to see.

Graham was on the far side of the chest of drawers opposite the door, his shape little more than a silhouette of dark gray against the dimmer shadows. Miguel was behind the couch in the sitting area directly across from the entry. From where he was Mitchell couldn't see the tiny latin, but he knew he was still there and undoubtedly perpetually alert. The last two men he'd never met before tonight and their names were both Russian enough that he'd already decided to just give up trying to pronounce them. At least they seemed alright enough, both quiet and going about their business without complaint. They both knew enough not to be chatty or something equally moronic as well. No sense in giving their target advance warning. Even if it was just some chick.

With the decimation of Gotham's organized crime by Black Mask and the Riddler and the subsequent crackdown by the cops there was very little respectable work left for a man like Mitchell Quinlan. His low morals, specific skill set, and criminal record didn't leave him a lot of wiggle room either. At least in fields that were honorable. Sabatino and the Galante's were pretty much the only game left in town at this point and they were practically bleeding money. Hell, Miguel hadn't even been paid in the last two weeks. Hence the moonlighting. The low level hitters and soldiers for the families were being shed rapidly, leaving quite a few capable, willing killers wandering the streets searching for work. Desperation was going to set in rapidly. That probably wouldn't mean good things either when it came to the crime levels in Gotham.

Quinlan was just glad he hadn't had to stoop to armed robbery like some of the others he knew. That wasn't his forte and a nice prison stay wasn't exactly what he had in mind. Too many ways to screw that up and it took too long. Too risky.

He shifted the weight of his Glock, passing it between his right hand and left a couple times to try and allow his sweaty palms a chance to dry a little. Hopefully that damned cat didn't brush against his leg again too. Damned thing had nearly made him pull the trigger the first time it'd done it. Hell, one of the Ukrainians had all but screamed before sending out a streak of curses in his native language.

At least he figured it was swearing. He really only had the man's tone of voice to go on.

Rumor had it this job was for the Mask himself. Graham had hinted at something along those lines when he'd called Mitchell to bring him on board. Sure, none of the five had any love for the mystery man as he'd made all of their lives a helluva lot more difficult of late. But, good money was good money and who knew? Maybe this could lead into something more...full time. Riley and Kazan were dead and buried and with the way things were going Sabatino would be too in the not too distant future. That didn't leave many options.

And so they'd ambush and murder some girl who had the unfortunate luck to somehow cross one of the most brutal son-of-a-bitches he'd ever even heard of. Poor lady, but oh well...it was business.

Mitchell finally decided to stuff the handgun back in the waistband of his slacks and went back to gnawing on his nails.

It wasn't that he enjoyed offing some woman he'd never met. Sure, most of the time he did find some satisfaction in his work. He had no qualms about what kind of person that made him. He was a bad guy. Period. He killed or hurt people for a living and relished in the power that gave him. But still...a woman was a little different. He'd do it and not lose any sleep of course, but there wouldn't be much to savor. Just a job well done and a paycheck at the end of it.

Boredom had him glance around the darkness again, stopping to stare again at the buildings stretching out into the distance. At least they had a good view while they waited. Lady must have some money too. Wasn't a room any old person could afford. Maybe it'd be worthwhile to take a look around once the deed was done?

Then he realized the view of one of the towers was...off. The light was wrong somehow. Like it was being reflected a little bit. Mitchell cocked his head and frowned, looking at it from a slightly different angle.

The balcony door was standing ajar the tiniest amount, barely noticeable in the darkness except for the way the light reflecting off of it was slightly skewed compared to the previous five and a half hours. What the hell? Could the wind have done that? They'd never thought to check the latch on that door to see if it was closed securely when they'd broken in. He paused and tapped at the grip if his gun thoughtfully. If that got blown shut at the wrong moment it could spook their prey or tip her off before she was in the room.

He snapped his finger, noting the jerk in Graham's body across the room at the warning sign. "Balcony door," he hissed quietly. "It's open."

"So, fucking close it," came the similarly hushed, clipped response.

Apparently Graham was finding the night's tediousness just as frustrating as the rest of them.

Staying low so as not to provide a clean target should the front door suddenly open Mitchell scooted over to the glass door, easing it closed and taking care not to let the latch make much noise as it clicked back into place. He was just about to head back to his previous position when the smell caught up to him.

It was sharp and industrial, like the familiar smell of metal and oil that seems ingrained at every mechanic's. The fingertips on his right hand, the ones that had closed the door were also slick with something. Something that was not water judging from just how slippery it was and its odor. Hesitantly he rubbed his thumb against his pointer, feeling the material. After a second he sniffed them in the darkness, recoiling at the pungent aroma of lubricating grease before staring back at the balcony door.

Somebody had come through there. That was really the only answer. They'd used some kind of lubricant on the latch and possibly the hinges to make sure nothing had made a sound before slipping inside. And now whoever it was was inside the hotel room with Mitchell and his group. The door sure as hell hadn't been open like that when they'd broken in.

The blood in his veins froze when he realized what that meant. There weren't exactly many people who could silently enter from the outside when the room was this far up. In fact, there was really only one person he could think of.

If you could really even call him a person.

With growing panic he jerked and looked back across the room to where Graham was stationed. The man's gray silhouette was still there and still alone against the room's dim backdrop. Mitchell's eyes began roving then, searching the darkness for any signs of life as he softly, slowly began trying to pad his way to his superior's position. He had to warn them. If it _was _the Batman then they were in trouble. From everything he'd heard through the years they probably didn't stand a chance in the middle of the day with all the cover in the world at their disposal, but here they were in the dark and completely unaware. The Batman was in _his _element.

Wiping away a bead of suddenly cold sweat, the sliver of light beneath the front door drew his eye. He could run. Just bolt out the door and down the hall before anyone else knew what was happening. Maybe that'd be enough to surprise their hunter. The others could deal with him and afford him the time to be long gone.

Except how long before the rumors spread that he'd run from a fight? That he'd left his comrades to the mercies of an armored vigilante. He'd never get work in this town again. At least not the type that he was accustomed to.

So, that meant warning them and hoping they'd be enough if they worked together. Somehow that wasn't all that reassuring though. How many others had thought exactly that and still ended up unconscious on the floor. Or worse.

Horrible plan or not, it and all remaining amounts of composure went right out the window when he looked back up and saw a dark shape rise behind Graham's silhouette. Before he even had a chance to shout a warning they were both gone, seeming to meld together before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

There hadn't been so much as a whisper.

Making up his mind he darted for the door, the sudden movement and noise drawing immediate attention from the other armed men when he crashed through a side table and its lamp.

"_Somebody here!" _said one voice in heavily accented English.

"_Get the lights! Somebody get the goddamn lights!" _

The overheads flickered on, bathing the entire place in bright incandescent light as one of the Ukrainians dove for the bank of switches by the dresser. Mitchell instinctively pulled up short of the door, the lights blinding him after so long spent in the dark. It took a second to regain his balance before he managed to look around again.

Graham was down, crumpled and unmoving in the corner with Miguel nowhere to be seen, his position behind the couch completely vacant.

The two Eastern Europeans saw the same thing, turning to meet Mitchell's gaze as they blinked their own wide, panicked eyes at the scene around them and in reaction to the sudden brightness.

Even with the entire place bathed in welcome light there was no sign of the Batman though. His presence was simply non-existent, as though he may as well have been a ghost.

They'd all undoubtedly heard accounts of the vigilante's exploits. What criminal in Gotham hadn't? Tales of an invincible, rage fueled bogeyman striking out from the shadows had become almost commonplace, bordering on weird superstition and crazy fairy tales at times. Even given that though, the reality was so much more terrifying than any story could ever hope to describe. Given the current reality, some of those tales were beginning to seem a lot less far-fetched as well. The way he was here, but at the same time...wasn't.

Of course, deep down they knew he was just a man. It was what convinced any low life in Gotham that he could take on the Bat. An ordinary man could be beaten and killed, they had weaknesses. It was the law of nature. But, besides maybe the Joker, Mitchell wasn't aware of anyone ever uncovering something resembling one with the Batman. He was simply unstoppable. Unknowable.

And he was after _them_.

Quinlan swallowed hard at that, tightening the grip on his Glock.

At least with the lights on that didn't leave much room to hide. The balding Russian nearest Quinlan leaped over the back of the couch, leading with his big revolver as he tried to find the hidden intruder. Mitchell kept inching for the door, keeping his own weapon out and trained at those few places a man could still be hidden. Mainly he focused on the open bathroom door. That room was still bathed in darkness.

The others seemed to very quickly reach the same thought, sliding to the side of the entry before looking at each other and trying to reach some kind of unspoken agreement. Even from fifteen feet away Mitchell could see the unasked question pass between them. Do they actually dare attack the Batman? One even glanced back to Mitchell before nervously looking at the front door, obviously pondering the odds of escape as well.

Swallowing hard and collecting every last shred of courage he crossed the room to join the two against the wall. Fingering his weapon nervously he nodded at each man individually, noticing the uncertainty in their eyes that he was sure must also be in his. No one looked anxious to enter the bathroom. Maybe if they could reach the light switch inside...

With a final look though, the Russian on the far side of the door licked his lips and swung around the open doorway, leveling his weapon. The other burly man matched him.

The taller one, the one Mitchell thought had called himself Moskov earlier, was yanked physically forward into the dark bathroom, disappearing from view where a muffled scream was cut off almost immediately. His fellow countryman managed a syllable and a half of another native curse before something small struck him in the neck and he dropped to the floor almost instantly, never even discharging his weapon.

Quinlan decided that was more than enough for him, turning tail and flat out running for the exit. He hadn't exactly wanted to stand and fight even with all the others to assist him. Now alone, with nothing but a Glock and seventeen bullets to help him all he wanted to do was flee. Job prospects and payment be damned.

The lights in the hotel room went back out halfway to the door, plunging Mitchell back into utter darkness and nearly causing him to stumble on his own two feet before he smashed into the arm of the couch. Six feet from potential safety the world shifted suddenly around him as he was yanked off his feet, an unseen object snaring his lower legs before he was dragged inexorably backward toward his captor.

Panicked, Quinlan scrambled to grab hold of anything for purchase, the sounds of his own thrashing and labored breathing still the only sound breaking the silence. Finally, a couple soft footsteps announced someone's presence behind him and his backward progress ceased abruptly. Just as quickly his perspective shifted again, strong hands rolling him over before grabbing the front of his shirt. In terror Mitchell struck out blindly at his attacker, glancing at least one blow off hard plating before something solid slammed into his solar plexus, driving the air out of his lungs and doubling him over. The next thing he knew he'd been bodily picked up, a heavy forearm at his throat before being slammed into the nearest wall. The impact was jarring enough that he bit his tongue, the bitter taste of blood filling his mouth.

He still couldn't see much of anything either, just black on black though the form of the Batman looming over him was unmistakable despite the lack of detail. His own terrified imagination managed to fill in plenty of detail on its own.

With a hiss a flare suddenly ignited, bathing the room and the suddenly vividly real vigilante across from him into a hellish red-orange light that flickered and danced over the room. As though things could get any more terrifying the whole scene took on an even more sinister look, the shadows giving way to something out of a nightmare.

"_Jesus!_" Quinlan managed, squeaking it out as the giant, black armored man leaned in, glaring at him.

"He's not going to help you," came a rumbling, angry reply. The forearm tightened against his throat. "I have questions."

* * *

><p>"I don't think she likes me."<p>

Bruce just dropped Isis into Selina's arms after sliding to the ground from the Tumbler, trudging past her to the stairs leading up to the computer center. She gave the still frightened cat a few soft strokes and nuzzled her before spinning to head up after him.

That had been about the greeting she'd expected though. Idle chat about how one's night went didn't seem like something to be expected from the man who was also the Batman. Granted, she'd seen a lot from Bruce since she'd come to know him. Plenty of sides surprised her. He was a man of many facets and this was still a new one she was still adjusting to. Something _else _to try and puzzle together and make sense of.

As a result she wasn't exactly going to expect a hello kiss when he'd just gotten back from pounding a few low-lifes into the pavement. That just didn't seem like...him. Still, would it kill him to be the tiniest bit social once he was back here?

At least she'd been able to see and hear most of his night courtesy of a stealth drone circling the city. That was something. If she couldn't be out there doing something it was probably the next best thing despite how much sitting and doing nothing chafed.

Selina chuckled and nuzzled the still stunned looking feline again. Stealth drone? Seriously? How was this her life?

"What'd you dig up?" Bruce was asking when she reached the upper platform after him. He dropped into a nearby chair, placing the cowl next to a keyboard at the workstation. Alfred quickly scooped it up and set it gently at a table nearby.

"You mean besides the entire police broadband system, local cell service towers, satellite television signals, a couple dozen registered wireless networks, the public access channel, and a partridge in a pear tree?"  
>Bruce stopped what he was doing, halfway through unsnapping one of the myriad plates adorning the armor to look up at her, shooting her an exasperated glare.<p>

That just elicited a smug little smile though. Selina leaned closer to the older man next to her and nudged him gently with an elbow. "He's cute when he gets annoyed, huh?" She winked at Bruce. "Doesn't take long either, does it?" Alfred just glanced sidelong at her and cocked an eyebrow.

"Alfred?"

"_Alfred_," Selina parroted, drawing another tired glare from the young billionaire as she dropped into another of the chairs nearby.

"There _was _an unregistered wireless network detected, sir. Triangulation was imprecise given that the bulk of the building was interfering, but it definitely originated from within police headquarters. Sadly, its encryption is greater than anything else the Gotham police possess by a factor of three, making it even more suspicious. Given some of our difficulties in setting up the cave I'd guess military grade at least. Even _our _computers won't be able to break it before Lieutenant Bullock moves forward tomorrow evening."

Bruce just nodded along. Almost as though he'd already been expecting the news and began working on the boots. "What about signal strength?" he asked without looking up. "Could it be accessed remotely from a large enough section of the city to make it viable? Wireless networks don't generally extend very far."

"Oh, that's where it get's even more interesting," Selina said, interrupting whatever it was the older man next to her was going to say. What? She wanted to participate. "At first glance, no, it totally didn't seem like it. It's still just a plain, old run-of-the-mill wireless network. Just one with a shit-ton of security. You'd have to be within like...thirty yards or something to access it. Fairly normal. But, that's when Alfred over here got tricky." She elbowed the old butler again gently. "Tell him."

The old butler chuckled and shook his head while Bruce just watched the two of them tiredly.

"Since Mister Nigma is posing as a law enforcement officer I decided to go and have a look into their servers," he explained. "Snoop around and see if anything's fishy. Now, the entire force is linked remotely such that squad cars can access records and other data anywhere in the city. That's partially how we occasionally gain access. Of course, given its purpose it also requires a great deal of signal strength in order to blanket the city. Rather it means multiple towers located across the town."

Bruce laid the utility belt across the table and the scattering of armor plates he'd already removed. "So, Nigma's tied his own network to the police servers?"

"There _was _something there," Alfred acknowledged. "Without breaking Nigma's security though I'm afraid we can't know for sure. It's simply not conclusive."

"Oh, come on," Selina groaned. "He's using their own information system, their bandwidth, against them. That's how he'll do it. Are we really gonna sit and argue percentages here?"

Alfred looked at her before eventually nodding. "I do agree with Miss Kyle that it seems likely. If he's somehow piggybacked on their frequencies then he'll have managed to effectively boost the signal so that he can access it nearly anywhere. Even their radios would be tied in. It's incredibly subtle."

"And clever," Bruce agreed. "That essentially makes the range citywide."

The butler nodded. "And then some."

"Well, we can't just take down the entire GCPD network. Not without tipping Nigma off," Bruce said, wiping a tired hand over his face. "He may even have a backup plan for setting things off that we haven't thought of yet. One wrong move and we could just make things worse." The billionaire rose to work on the lower plates, bending to remove one covering the majority of his quadricep. "Okay...so, Bullock's planning on taking him down at the MCU. That means that his little wireless network might still be viable even with everything else down. Still, Alfred, lets put something together to crash it all quickly just in case we run out of other options."

Selina waited for more. When nothing came she asked, "That's it?"

Bruce just sighed. "No. It just means that since we can't get past his digital security in time we're gonna have to focus on finding the bomb itself. That means getting inside Police Headquarters."

Alfred frowned. "May I remind you that dawn is in less than an hour, sir."

Selina smiled. Finally. "No sweat. I've got this."

Both men looked at her for a second, one far more agreeable than the other. "No," Bruce said, shaking his head. "No. Absolutely not."

Again with leaving her out of the action. Why did she like this guy again? "You're kidding, right? Bruce, this is kind of my specialty."

He just shook his head again. "We're not going to send you breaking into Police Plaza when there are less dangerous ways. Besides, would you know what to do with a bomb if you found it? Who knows what safeguards Nigma has in place?"

Okay, so Bruce had a point, but she wasn't about to acknowledge that and be tossed to the sidelines again. Breaking and entering and stealth was what she _did._Nobody was better. Well, except maybe him. Crap.

"Oh, come on," she hissed. "You could walk me through it. We both know that." The first part of what he'd said though finally caught up to her. "And what're you talking about, _less dangerous_? It's freakin' police headquarters. That's never gonna be safe."

Surprisingly, Bruce smiled and turned to his friend. "Alfred, didn't Lieutenant Bullock want to see Bruce Wayne for a formal statement about what happened with Pamela Isley at the manor?"

The older man nodded. "Indeed." Then his face lit up as he understood. "I'll make the arrangements, Master Wayne."

Selina crossed her arms and frowned at the young man as his butler stepped away. "So, you're just going to walk in there? That's your master plan?"

"Yes."

She shrugged. Even she had to admit it was a solid way to get himself deep into the building and behind security. It appeared that Bruce Wayne served more uses than as just a smokescreen for the Batman. Interesting. "Okay, I guess that's...ballsy. And if you get caught?"

"Well," he said, pulling the Kevlar underlayer over his head, "most people _do _think Bruce Wayne's a pretty big moron." He grinned and winked at her. "Maybe I just got lost."

Selina couldn't help it, she laughed at that. The image of him bumbling around the halls of Police Plaza was plenty funny. Already she could picture the stormy demeanor of that gruff detective from the other night when he was found aimlessly wandering the precinct's halls. "God, I hate to say it, but they really would buy that, wouldn't they?" she asked. "That's kind of sad."

Bruce just smiled.

"So, what now?"

"Want to help me look through some structural plans?"

The smirk fell off her face. Good lord. It was barely past six in the morning. He was going to do that now? Did the man ever rest?

"Not even a little bit," she finally sighed, "but come on. Let's get this over with."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Next chapter we get to see a bit of Bruce Wayne being a lecherous moron and the Riddler vs. a good chunk of the GCPD. There may be some other cameos too in there. _

_Gonna try my best to start stepping up the timetable a bit. I've definitely been far to complacent about working on this lately. You guys have been waiting enough. We need to get this moving forward so we can actually make it to the eventual conclusion. There WILL be one too. Trust me. _


	47. Chapter 47

_If you've got the time, please leave a review. They really are all kinds of awesome and I make sure to answer every last registered review I receive. Thoughts? Questions? Ask away. They'll all get answered. I always enjoy interacting with you guys.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>"Well, I think we can safely say the first floor's clear."<p>

Bruce slipped quietly out of the electrical room's door and back into the temporarily deserted hallway outside. Already he could hear the click of shoes coming from around the corner. Quickly putting on his best innocently lost expression he moved forward, heading back toward the front of the old building and its grand foyer. The two women glanced at him curiously before one obviously recognized him and her eyes went wide. Then they were moving past.

"Yes, sir," came Alfred's succinct reply. "Still nothing to report here as well unfortunately."

After forty-five minutes of searching there hadn't been a single sign of anything even remotely resembling a bomb. It had been slow going given just how often he'd been recognized too. Bearing the face of Bruce Wayne had its downsides just as much as it had its advantages. Being a nameless face in the crowd would have come in handy several times already.

Of course the crowds and bustle would have been an impediment that would also have hampered Nigma. The ground floor was simply too well used and traveled to try and hide something like what they were looking for. It was the most public and widely used space. Home to the traffic schools, the cashiers, the beat cops, the booking office, and over a dozen other high traffic areas. Something as hard to hide as a large bomb would have already required plenty of time and effort even without having to brave the crowds. With all of his cunning Nigma may have found a way, but there was just too great a chance there'd be witnesses up here. Questions would have invariably been asked.

No, Nigma wouldn't have even bothered, but Bruce also couldn't afford to dismiss it outright either. As it was, he'd been able to locate and check all the major structural load bearing members on the first floor to be sure. Just because it didn't make sense didn't mean he didn't want to be as thorough as possible.

He was going to have to get into the basement though. It was that simple. Searching the upper floors wasn't nearly as high a priority. It was a simple, grim truth. The further up you went the less collateral damage could be expected. Besides, with how the signal was being interfered with it probably meant more building was between the bomb and the Wraith, not less.

Bruce smiled vacantly at a passing uniformed officer and checked his watch. Unfortunately, anything further would also have to wait for the moment. He'd already made Bullock wait over half an hour. By now the impatient man was probably out looking for him since he'd undoubtedly gotten word the billionaire was in the building. As Bruce Wayne his presence was only going to remain hidden for so long.

"Alright," Bruce sighed, "I thinks that's it for the time being. I'm gonna have to make an appearance upstairs or risk too many questions. Keep doing what you can from your end in the meantime. Alfred, you know what to do once I'm with Bullock, right?"

"I do, sir."

"Alright. Keep it up. Every few minutes or so until he cracks."

"I still think you should have just let me do things my way," Selina grumbled in the background. "At the very least we could have covered more ground."

That was...actually something to consider. Next time.

"Selina, listen..."

"Who the hell are you talking to?"

Bruce turned to his left and almost walked right into the massive bulk of Harvey Bullock. He was standing directly in his path as he turned the corner, his sleeves rolled up over thick forearms that were folded across his chest. Most men would have wilted under the glare the man was currently wearing. Bruce just smiled carelessly and pointed to the small phone earpiece settled into his right ear. The policeman wouldn't know that it was actually a two way device with the cave. Even upon closer inspection it just looked like an ordinary hands-free phone device to the casual observer.

"Phone call," he said before offering his hand and smiling. "Nice to see you again, Detective..."

"Lieutenant," he corrected, his jawing flexing in annoyance. Bullock didn't even look at the outstretched hand. "Christ, Wayne. How...? What the hell are you even doing down here? You're not even in the right part of the building, nevermind the right floor. You know I've been waiting on you for close to forty-five minutes now?"

"Oh yeah. Right. Of course." Bruce waved it off inconsequentially and kept smiling lightly. He needed to seem like the man who didn't have a care in the world. "Hey, I got a call and I guess I started...wandering. Lost track of time. You understand."

The policeman just stared at him for a second, studying him disgustedly. "Whatever," he eventually grunted before pointing off down the hall towards the closest staircase. "This way."

Bruce fell into step next to him as they turned the corner, not missing when the officer muttered, "Rich morons," under his breath.

"There was also this surprisingly attractive little motorcycle cop," Bruce lied, choosing to continue his excuse. "Her name was...well, her name eludes me. Blond hair. Anyway, not only did I manage to get a date with her, but I also got a speeding ticket written off. Nice, right? And who knew there were actually good looking police officers? She really filled out that uniform."

Based on the tortured look Bullock shot him Bruce knew his little off-handed remark had hit home. Unfortunately, this whole meeting was going to be about antagonizing the poor man. He needed the interview to be as short as possible so he could get back to the real work.

"Anyone I should worry about," came Selina's voice in his ear. "Cause I should tell you, I'm not so good with sharing."

Bruce just forced himself to ignore her. The Lieutenant just ignored Bruce, but his fist were clenched against his sides as he walked.

"Detective..."

"Lieutenant," he grunted, correcting him again as the scowl deepened.

"Right. Hey, can I make an observation? It's just...you know, you seem kinda...tense. Take it from me, you gotta learn to lighten up. Go with the flow and all. Especially given your job and given _this _city. Stress and hypertension are killers man." He clapped his hands together excitedly. "Listen, tell you what. I know this gorgeous meditation specialist and masseuse that I'd be happy to..."

"_Wayne_," Bullock practically choked out, stopping short and spinning on him. "Just...stop. Listen, I don't care about your empty little life. Okay? And I don't want your help. I just want to get this over with and get the case wrapped up. Sound good to you?" He turned and began trudging back up the stairs. "Frankly I don't even know why the hell you bothered to come in in the first place. You realize the Joker kidnapped Isley, right?"

Bruce just nodded dumbly and continued along silently beside the hulking man. When they'd gone up a couple flights of stairs he decided to take his next shot.

"Think he'll kill her?"

The officer glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Joker seem the non-violent type to you?"

"Guess not." He let the silence stretch on for another few seconds as they reached the third floor landing. "It really is too bad about that one then, isn't it?"

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow at that. "What? Who? Isley?"

Bruce nodded along. "Yeah, I mean she looked pretty damned good the other night when she was all cleaned up. And with her crazy...I bet she'd have been something else in the sack." Bruce smiled lecherously. "Know what I mean?" Bullock looked about like he wanted to punch a hole in the wall. Bruce shrugged and pretended to remain oblivious to the glares shot his way. "It's just a shame she killed people. I mean that part sucks."

Harvey actually pulled up short at that. "Are you saying that it's a shame she killed people...because it prevented you from getting a chance to sleep with her?"

"Umm...yeah," Selina chimed in. "Am I supposed to be taking offense to this or what? How about you dial back the douchebag a little?"

Bruce just shrugged again, ignoring her and glanced at the Detective. "I don't know. I mean don't get me wrong. It sucks that she killed people too. That's awful. It's just...you know...a shame is all. It would have been fun."

The Lieutenant took a step back as though appraising him. "You're kind of a piece of work, you know that? I mean, I really assumed the stories were exaggerated at least a little bit." He shook his head. "Shows what I know."

"Oh, you have no idea," Selina whispered.

The sudden chime of a ringing phone in Bruce's pocket drew both men's attention. He pretended to check the screen and shrugged apologetically at the other man. "Sorry," he said. "I've gotta take this."

Bullock just grunted and continued leading the way.

What followed was a series of calls from Alfred, each interrupting the two men to discuss something ranging from Wayne Enterprises' most recent takeover bid to the latest in high society gossip. The details varied, the calls themselves lasting anywhere from five minutes to just a few seconds, but that wasn't the point. The interruptions themselves were the point. It was a calculated tactic, trying to speed things up by slowing them down to a crawl. Eventually they hoped the Lieutenant's own volatile nature and impatience would bring about the end of the interview once he'd reached a certain boiling point. He undoubtedly already had statements from just about everyone at the party other than Selina and at least a partial one from Bruce himself. They were hoping to make him come to the conclusion that that would be more than enough.

If body language was any indicator it was working too.

"No, no. The menu isn't set yet," Bruce said, carrying on the latest in a line of fake conversations. "Give the caterer a call and schedule a tasting. Then get your recommendations to the event coordinator. My secretary has her number. I'll let you give her a call to get it." When he hit the button on the handset he shot the seething Detective an apologetic glance. "Sorry," he offered. "Guess I'm a popular guy. You were saying?"

"Any chance you can turn that damn thing off for the rest of the meeting?" Bullock pleaded, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "We're really not covering much ground and I've got a helluva lot better things I can be doing with my time than waiting for Bruce Wayne to get off his damned phone."

"Sorry, Detective..."

"Lieutenant," he growled, glaring at him.

"Of course." Bruce waved it away, drawing an even harsher look from the angry man. "Anyway, the last time I turned my phone off Wayne Enterprises missed a key investment opportunity because I'm the majority stockholder and they couldn't reach me for approval. To make a long story short, one of our key competitors then proceeded to swoop in and snatch it up and our stock dipped three dollars a share as a result. Do you have any idea how many millions of dollars that equals?" He shrugged unapologetically. "Sorry." The officer just squeezed his eyes in response and rubbed his temple. "So," Bruce continued, "we've covered the Catwoman's involvement, the car chase, and my wrecked cars. Is there really anything left to..."

His phone ringing again drew a groan from the Lieutenant who promptly threw his hands up in frustration. Again, Bruce pretended to glance at the screen before whispering, "It's the Mayor," to the frayed Detective. "Sorry, but I've got to take this." He didn't miss a beat answering the phone again to hear Alfred's voice on the other end.

Three and a half minutes later, following a short conversation about the Wayne Foundation's next urban renewal project he thought he had Bullock finally at the end of his chain. It had cost the policeman several snapped pencils and a lot of wear and tear to his teeth judging by all the grinding, but hopefully it'd all be worth it in the end. Well, for Bruce.

Time to offer the Lieutenant a way out and see if he went for the bait.

"You know, with all the distractions it slipped my mind," Bruce remarked idly, continuing to look at his phone and pretending to send a message as he removed a thin case from his coat pocket, "but I have security footage of the party for you if you'd like it?"

Harvey blinked and stared at him for a second. "Wait. Back up. You're telling me you have security cameras on the _inside _of your house and you've had the footage from them this whole time?"

"Yeah." Bruce actually allowed himself to look a little chagrined. "Sorry. Like I said, it slipped my mind."

"And it shows everything that happened that night?"

Bruce shrugged. "Well, that's what my attorneys say. I haven't really found the time to watch it myself, but they said I should definitely give you a copy. I got the feeling they thought it would really help you out. Well, you _and _the insurance companies."

The Lieutenant just stared down at the disc in his hands and then at Bruce before alternating back. He was plainly shocked to suddenly have such a conclusive piece of evidence come falling into his lap out of nowhere. Equally obvious was the internal debate raging within him about cutting the annoying billionaire loose. Did he have enough? Did he need to keep battling to get more of the man's precious time? Ivy wasn't even in their possession and given the Joker's track record she probably never would be. How thorough did he really need to be here?

Bruce decided to help make up his mind for him, sending a quick text to Alfred and being greeted almost instantaneously by his phone ringing. Bullock's reaction was equally immediate, reaching over to grab his wrist and interrupt him before he had the chance to answer.

"Mister Wayne. Listen, I think we've got everything we need from you. It's been...well, it's been a downright fucking nuisance, but thanks all the same for coming in today. I know you're a busy man and all and I really don't want to waste anymore of your time.

"Always happy to help. If you need to get in touch with me you can go through..."

"Think you can find your way out?" Bruce barely managed a nod before Bullock was striding out of the room, leaving the door ajar and a smirking billionaire behind.

"Alfred," he said softly, "Prep the package. I'm gonna head for that basement entrance now."

* * *

><p>A knock at the door drew the Lieutenant's attention at which point he made a final look around to make sure things were in order. His weapon was still concealed securely under the desktop out of sight. The silhouettes of the other officers milling about outside were still plainly visible. His radio was in the top drawer, the correct frequencies already saved with Montoya and a response team ready and waiting. Last, but not least was the arrest warrant made out for the alias, Edward Nigma, that was folded carefully in his inside coat pocket.<p>

He studiously went back to the papers strewn across his desk, grunting a, "Yeah," to the man of the hour on the other side of the door as he went back to trying to act nonchalant.

After the fiasco that was the Wayne interview it had taken Bullock nearly a half hour to calm back down. The man was a moron from front to back. How the hell did karma allow someone like that to be a billionaire while a hard working, straight arrow guy like him was still renting that same shitty townhouse from the old Armenian lady? Life really was good and truly unfair sometimes.

But at least tonight he'd get Nigma. Just the slightest thought about that brought a small smile to his face. Finally. After all this time of waiting and watching the Commissioner hem and haw he'd get to snag the rat bastard, Batman be damned. Now if only the firing squad hadn't been outlawed in the state several decades earlier.

He'd spent hours after kicking the billionaire's ass out of the office ensuring that everything was perfect. Checking and rechecking everyone's roles. Drilling into them the need for secrecy. One little word outside their little circle and things might get back to their target. Something like that meant failure. And failure meant explaining to those widows why their husband's killer was still at large.

The weaselly little man stuck his head through the door questioningly before the Lieutenant waved him in, never looking up from the file folder in front of him.

"You wanted to see me? New case?"

"Old case actually," Bullock offered. "Why don't ya have a seat."

When Maddger didn't sit down Harvey paused and was about to look up..

"And why don't you just dispense with the pleasantries and stop acting as though I'm some kind of dullard."

That caught Bullock for a second. He glanced up from the paperwork he was pretending to read and eyed the fake detective. "Excuse me?"

The other man shrugged and dropped into the wooden desk chair across from the Lieutenant. "Fine, we can play it your way. If it's all the same to you though do you mind if I make things a bit clearer before we continue this dance? Just so that we're on the same page." When Harvey just stared at him he continued on, never missing a beat. "First," he said, indicating one of his tar stained fingers as he leaned forward," you're asking me to meet with you in your office. That alone is strange and a complete departure from your normal behavioral patterns. Since you never use this office it defeats any sense of normalcy. Just a dead give away. But okay, fine. Perhaps you're just being erratic or something.

"Ian, I don't know what you're..."

Nigma simply held up a hand stopping him. "Second, and much more telling...you're wearing body armor." Harvey actually glanced down at his button down shirt at that. The lines of the kevlar vest _were _pretty obvious. "You're wearing it in _your_ own office located deep within Police Plaza." He leaned back in his chair far too comfortably and cocked his head. "Tell me, Lieutenant, what exactly is there to fear that requires a bulletproof vest?" With that the small man grinned widely and nodded his head to the side to indicate the office's door. "I assume the three lovely officers that are stationed outside trying to act nonchalant are for my benefit as well?"

Well, the pointy eared jackass _had _warned that this guy was a sharp cookie. Fine. Not beating around the bush then.

"Alright, fine. Kudos and all that shit. Now here's how this works. If you come quietly I can guarantee that you won't be..."

"But," he continued interrupting the Lieutenant, "it begs the question, who figured it out? Given this farce of a trap certainly not you and certainly not the dear Commissioner..."

"Doesn't matter," Bullock said, shaking his head. "What _does _matter is that I'm going to be placing you under arrest and those gentlemen out there are gonna take you on an uneventful trip down to booking where you'll get a nice little cell to call your own."

Nigma looked at Harvey through thinned, calculating eyes as he mulled everything over. "So you _are _working with _him_ then?" When Bullock stiffened the slightest bit in indignation the little man laughed. "Oh, how very interesting. That must chafe unbelievably on you and your overdeveloped sense of righteousness. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall at those meetings..."

"Listen, scumbag. Since we don't have a proper name for ya I'm just gonna have your rights read to you using Edward Nigma, got it? If you'd like to volunteer your actual name we'll use that? Either way there's only one way this ends so let's not make things hard. Otherwise I get to tenderize you a bit."

"Right," he replied, waving it off as he paid Harvey little to no attention. "Whatever. It isn't important."

"Not impo..." The Lieutenant shook his head and waved the plainclothes officers on the other side of the door in. If he wasn't going to put up a fight and he wasn't going to beat around the bush or deny it then that made things simpler. It might not be quite as satisfying as he'd built it up to be, but he wasn't going to be picky.

Walsh, the officer on the left gripped the scrawny man's elbow and pulled him up. Another stepped forward while his rights were read, pulling his hands behind his back and handcuffing him securely. That left only a quick body search for hidden weapons before they were set to head downstairs. All in all a pretty easy collar. Harvey almost scoffed at the over-the-top scenarios the Batman had presented. The freak had been dealing with crazies for too long. Reality was always much simpler.

"It was the name, wasn't it?" Nigma asked the Lieutenant's back as they made their way down the hall towards the elevators. "He went through the personnel files and figured out my little name game." He actually laughed at that. A grating, harsh sound as he processed the knowledge that the Batman had deciphered his anagram. "But how did he find me? How did he know to look so closely at the police force?"

By now he wasn't even talking to anyone, simply speaking out loud as his thought processes worked through the problem. Just listening to the runt talk was enough to make Bullock want to plant his fist in Nigma's mouth though. The brute in him really wished for the days when that kind of thing was glossed over in reports and transcripts. A few minutes alone with Nigma would probably do wonders for his stress levels.

"The phone call!" Nigma crowed suddenly from behind him. It was a declaration far too excited for a man about to be arrested for multiple murders. "He somehow managed to beat my decoys. Oh, that's _exciting_. Finally, someone that lives up to expectations. After all this time it's just so...refreshing. I wonder how he backtraced the signal so quickly? I mean, that's truly impressive."

Just a couple minutes, Lord. Please just grant him that.

The elevator doors couldn't come quickly enough either, finally opening after thirty seconds of waiting. Thirty seconds in which the Riddler seemed incapable of shutting the hell up. When they finally opened though silence, sweet silence took over as he was herded into the car, looking back at the detective when his three escorts turned him around.

Bullock just smirked at the cop killer and waved. "Give my regards to the boys downstairs. I'm thinkin' they'll probably enjoy some fresh meat. Hell, maybe I'll even make sure to warn them you're comin'. Ya know...to make sure they welcome you properly."

Nigma just smiled back and winked, bringing a single hand up to salute the Lieutenant as the doors to the elevator closed.

It didn't take long, probably only a second or two of shock before Harvey was lunging for the steel barriers after him, pushing another officer out of the way in his haste. Unfortunately, by the time he'd reached them it was too late. They'd shut and the elevator was descending.

Nigma's hands _had _been behind his back when they'd left his office. They'd also been handcuffed.

When he'd saluted neither had been the case.

* * *

><p>"Montoya, get your team to the lobby! I want it locked down. Somebody tries to get out you shoot them." Harvey jerked open the stairwell door and darted forward down the first flight. "And get tactical on the line. We're gonna need more men if we want to get a perimeter set up. This bastard is <em>not <em>getting outta here. You understand?"

"Got it, Harvey. On our way."

Bullock chugged down the staircase two at a time, sprinting around the landing as he descended with three of his detectives and two uniformed cops he'd grabbed along the way in tow. Slowing down the slightest bit he managed to change channels over to building security before hurtling down the next flight.

"Ops, what floor?" he called.

"Elevator's stopped at three."

"Good. We'll be there in thirty. Lock em all down. I don't want them moving. And make sure you have officers at every exit. I don't want this fucker sneaking out."

He slammed his shoulder into the fire door on the third floor, blasting through it and nearly bowling over a poor secretary walking by. Plenty of heads turned inquisitively at the shout and sound of the door crashing open only then to stare as the group went off full bore down the corridor. When they saw the drawn weapons several began running in the opposite direction.

"Back! Back! Fucking back!," Harvey screamed as soon as he rounded the corner and saw the small group of people waiting for the elevator doors to open. He grabbed the closest individual and threw them back the other way motioning them all to follow. "I need everyone back around the corridor. Take the stairs and get down to the lobby." He grabbed one man with a badge looped around his neck before he could leave with the rest as they began filing away. "The elevator doors? They opened at all?" The bewildered man just shook his head. "So, nobody's gotten in or out?" Again the man just shook his head. Bullock just pushed him away and he took off after the rest.

Motioning for the detectives to take the other side he got into position alongside the steel doors, thumbing the safety of his sidearm to the off position. The uniformed cops took cover behind some potted plants nearby that would provide a good view into the car's interior.

As he was bringing his handheld to his lips the building shook slightly, a low rumbling sound coming from somewhere far below them before quickly tapering off. All of the officers froze and stared at one another, each waiting for the other shoe to drop. When nothing further happened Bullock finally snapped back into action.

"The fuck was that?" he yelled into the radio.

The operations officer he'd been speaking with sounded much more harried than he had only a minute or two before. "We just lost the security cameras," he shouted back. There was a pause in which he could hear some rapid typing and a couple muffled orders being given before the shift supervisor came back on the line. "Okay, yeah, no response. They're down through the whole building. Sounded like some kind of explosion or something."

So, Nigma _did _have a plan in place and he'd just taken away their eyes. Harvey pretty much already knew the answer before he gave the order. The Riddler wasn't gonna be in the elevator. Before the cameras were strategically removed he'd been figuring on maybe a hostage situation or human shield. Now he was becoming much more worried what he'd find.

"Fuck!" he finally managed. "Okay, get the elevator doors open. Now!"

Ten seconds later the sliding metal doors parted silently. As expected, Nigma was nowhere to be found. The elevator, however, was also far from empty.

"Jesus," whispered one of the detectives flanking the Lieutenant.

All three of the plainclothes officers lay where they'd fallen, their firearms having never even been drawn. From the looks of the wounds he'd guess a knife had done the work. Something small and concealable given the search they'd conducted on Nigma earlier. Bullock's stomach twisted. It looked bad. There was blood on their clothes, on the floor...even on one of the walls. The Lieutenant had been around enough to know that a spray pattern like that meant something pushing a lot of blood through it had been nicked.

Nigma also didn't tend to leave survivors either.

"_Goddammit_!" he roared, punching the nearest wall hard enough to dent it. Already one of his detectives was crouching down, checking them for pulses. When he looked up in shock and nodded Bullock nearly fell over himself springing into action. "Unlock the fucking elevators. Now! We need paramedics on the first floor, southeastern elevator. Officers down. Say again, officers down. Have medical personnel meet em there." He lowered the handset and spun on the small crowd with him. "You and you," he said, indicating two of the younger looking officers. "Get in there with them and ride down to the lobby. _Wait_ for the EMT's." He stared back at the three bodies and the slowly growing pool between them. "Do what you can," he said quietly. Then he stormed off back down the hall for the nearest set of stairs.

"Montoya."

"Lobby's clear, Harv," she radioed back almost immediately. "No sign of him. Got a bunch of pretty anxious people down here, but we've got them under control. For now."

"Yeah. Listen, I'm gonna need help up here. He either got off at a different floor or went out the maintenance hatch and back up the elevator shaft. I'm thinking he's above us still, but we're gonna need tac teams up here if we're gonna manage any kind of thorough search."

Practically leaping up the stairs, Bullock slammed through the fourth floor's emergency exit.

"Well, Ryan's calling in everyone he can," Montoya said, "but it's gonna take some time. He's pissed enough that he wasn't brought in on this as it is. Until then I'm afraid it's just the standby team and the one we already had in place. Want me to send one of em your way?"

Bullock grunted. Damned Commander Ryan and his fucking pride. "No. Just have an element meet us at the main atrium on four. Keep the rest for securing the exits. Enlist detectives or officers from other departments if you have to. Whatever it takes. Just get it done."

He didn't even wait for an answer, stuffing the handheld into his pocket and rumbling around the next corner, his shoes squeaking on the polished floors. Another right and they'd be back at the group of elevators. From there he had nothing to go on. It'd be hell to climb up the shaft for very far. Not to mention not the quickest way to make an escape. No, if he had gone that way he'd want to get out of the enclosed shaft fairly quickly. One floor, maybe two at the most. The fourth floor then was as good a place as any to start searching.

He slowed and brought his sidearm to bear, trying to quiet his footsteps as the others behind him fanned out. Silently he motioned to two of them while Dietrich stuck close by him, nodding as they slipped inside a nearby office to clear the room. When they emerged again he stepped forward to the corner and peaked.

The tail end of a familiar, soiled old overcoat disappeared around another intersection fifteen yards ahead of them. Bullock took off running without a second thought, his colleagues struggling to keep up as he raced down the empty corridor. The prick wasn't getting away that easily.

The next corner came fast and the Detective whipped around it, nearly stumbling when the figure was only five yards in front of him with their back turned. He _had _to have heard them coming. Alarm bells began going off in Bullock's head, but he he shoved those away, bringing his weapon up and aiming center mass between Nigma's shoulder blades.

Looking back he should have known something was off. All the signs were there. Nigma was a small man, the coat normally draping over his diminutive frame comically. Hell, it had even been a source of amusement back before he'd found out the man's true purpose. But this time it practically swallowed the person whole. Add to that the uneven gait and he should have figured it out. The man simply didn't seem to be running from them. It was almost like he wanted to be caught.

With his adrenaline pumping and a single-minded purpose flowing through his brain he recognized neither of those facts though. Instead he plunged headlong into the situation.

"_Hands! Hands! Hands up!" _He took an aggressive step forward, leading with his pistol. "Put your _fucking _hands _up!"_ The figure froze at the first word and seemed to shrink further, shaking slightly. Without raising their hands, they turned slowly around.

"Motherfu..." Bullock dropped the gun limply at his side, staring.

The woman looked absolutely terrified, tears and running makeup staining her face as she trembled in panic and fear. The brimmed hat Nigma normally wore was far too big, hiding her hair and shadowing her features while the coat hung over her shoulders, dragging on the ground behind her.

"Please," she pleaded, begging the Lieutenant as much with her eyes as her words. Then she held up her hands in front of her.

The grenades were primed, six of them circling her handcuffed wrists. From the looks of it their handles were rigged, tightly connected to the trembling woman, but still free enough that one wrong move could mean one coming detached. That meant about five seconds before they'd all be dead.

"Montoya," he said quietly, reining in his usually booming voice in an attempt to keep the woman in front of him as calm as possible, "get me a Bomb Squad. Fourth floor, southwest corner," he craned his neck to look at the wall behind him, "corridor 'D'. I have a civilian with what looks like grenades strapped to her. No sign of Nigma."

"_Grenades_?"

"Bomb Squad, Renee," he replied through gritted teeth as evenly as possible. "And sooner's better than later."

"Okay. Right, Harv. On it."

The woman looked like she was about to collapse. Like her frayed nerves were finally going to snap and send her over the edge. If that happened her and anyone in this hallway with her were pretty much doomed. Harvey held his hands up in front of her, trying to stay calm and collected despite the hammering going on in his chest.

"Okay, Miss...ummm..."

"S...Sarah. I'm Sarah. Oh god."

"Sarah. Good. Okay. Hey, I'm just gonna come on over there to take a look. Nothing crazy. Think you can stay calm for me?" She nodded hesitantly but her entire body continued to quiver and she looked like she could break down at just about any moment. "Alright."

"Lieutenant? What about the bomb sq..."

Bullock cut the detective off with a glare before sidling over to him, never breaking eye contact with the terrified victim. "You, get your asses back down the hall. Just in case," he whispered. "I'll keep Dietrich with me around the other corner. As soon as the bomb squad's here you send em right in. Till then I'm gonna keep her company and try and not let her blow herself up." The other man looked like he wanted to argue, but eventually flexed his jaw and nodded. "And you two keep an eye out for Nigma. He's probably long gone, but something doesn't feel right. Now go."

After finally holstering his weapon and sending the last officer off in the other direction Harvey was left alone with the explosives laden woman. He tried his best nonchalant smile. It probably didn't prove too effective given his own sense of dread and doubt.

The Lieutenant approached slowly and kneeled, inspecting her hands, tracing the handcuffs and the intricate mechanism keeping all the grenades firmly attached to her wrists and forearms. The weapons were a simple fragmentation variety and probably easily acquired if one had the right contacts. Contacts Nigma had repeatedly demonstrated he most certainly had. Despite how their mechanism made them all but idiot proof though, the results were undeniably deadly. Pull the pin, release the safety lever, and the things would pretty much kill or maim anything within twenty feet. Probably more for the maiming part.

You usually threw the damn thing well before that though.

Yeah, they needed to get these off her...and quickly. Hell, the Riddler may have even rigged a remote or timer in there somewhere too. Then they were _really _up a creek without a paddle. Bullock was beginning to realize he may not have fully thought this through right about the time the visual of a remote entered his thought processes. He tried to speed up the slightest bit after that.

"Now," he said, trying to keep Sarah's mind on him and not her own potential mortality, "the funny thing about grenades like this is...so long as there's pressure here," he indicated the handle that attached to the tops of the devices, "they'll never, _ever_ go off. So, all we need you to do is remain good and still and there ain't nothin' to worry about." He glanced up at her and smiled. "Now hard is that, right? Standing still? It's nothing, right?"

The woman, Sarah, forced on a brave smile despite her shaking hands. So long as she was strapped to enough explosives to reduce her to something a mop would have to clean up she wasn't going to get much calmer than that.

"So, you...you know what you're doing? Right?"

Bullock glanced up at her. "Me? Sure," he lied. "Fifteen year veteran. Four tours of duty. Yeah, I know my way around these things. Child's play."

Harvey went back to tracing one of the wires that emerged from one of the small explosive's cores and wound it's way around another before wrapping around her right wrist. So, it wasn't a complete lie. He _had _used grenades before. Lots of times. Granted, he was well versed in theoretically using them to kill people, not in trying to disarm them when they've been boobytrapped to some poor woman's arms? Unfortunately, that was a rather big difference.

Even worse, to his eye things looked completely arbitrary. One wire would lead to nowhere while another went back to another explosive or traveled up Sarah's arm and into the coat. Was one of them an antenna? Were some failsafes or false leads? Hell, to him the entire damn thing just looked like a giant mess. He wasn't trained in ordnance disposal dammit. Still, there _had _to be something there. Nigma wouldn't have just gone to all the work of meticulously doing this to her without there being a reason for the slapped together look of it.

"Why though?" she whispered sadly above him. "Why me?" Several new tears quietly slid down her cheeks. "I mean, did I do something to him? I'd never even _seen _him."

Bullock snorted at the thought of this woman doing anything to that asshole. For a moment he stopped his examination again to look up at her. Seriously, was there anything more heartbreaking than a crying woman? "Nothin'," he said though, putting as much sincerity as he could muster into it. "Believe me you did _absolutely _nothin'." He tried squeezing her hand gently before going back to work. "My guess is he just wanted to use you to slow us down and keep us preoccupied. Bastard wasn't gonna be choosy and you were just the first pretty face he ran into." The Lieutenant grit his teeth as he backtracked yet another wire. "If you want to blame someone, blame me. He's my responsibility."

"Y...you?"

The Lieutenant nodded but didn't meet her eyes. "Let's just say if I'd listened to the advice of someone I don't really like we may not be in this situation."

She didn't really have a response to that, instead staring sullenly at her restrained wrists.

"So whatya do around here?" Bullock asked. He wasn't a negotiator by any stretch of the imagination, but it didn't take a genius to know that if you wanted to keep someone from focusing on their predicament you tried to keep their attention divided. "I mean, you're not a cop, so..."

"I...I don't work here actually." She shot him another of her fake smiles when he looked up questioningly at her. "No, seriously. You're not gonna believe it, but I was here to pay off a ticket for running a red light."

"Well, I guess this is one way to learn your lesson."

For once the shaking in Sarah's arms wasn't because of the weight of the explosives or the terror at one of the situation's possible outcomes, but because she chuckled quietly. "No," she said, still slightly laughing at the gallows humor, "I'll definitely think twice from here on out. In fact..."

They both heard the muffled thump from behind Bullock down the hallway. Sarah trailed off, looking curiously past him towards the intersection he'd sent Curtis and Reegar a couple minutes earlier.

"Curtis, report," Bullock whispered into his radio while his other hand instinctively inched toward his sidearm. "Curtis?" Nothing. "Curtis, come on _dammit, _pick up your mic. Report." He paused again and let the silence drag out. Nothing happened. "Reegar? Report. Will somebody answer me?"

After another couple tries met with similar results he finally called in Dietrich. Thankfully he answered immediately and was quickly loping back down the corridor to them, still eyeing the grenades warily as he approached. The Lieutenant's eyes never left the other end of the hall. "Listen, something's up. I can't reach either Ben or Steve."

The eager young officer nodded. "Want me to go check it out?"

"Hell no. You're staying here with me. Bomb Squad and backup should be here soon. Till then we stick tight. No sense in..."

Dietrich went pitching forward, his semi-automatic tumbling from his grip as he went face first to the tiled floor. Bullock wasted no time in spinning around, grabbing for Sarah as he tried to get out of the middle of the corridor.

There hadn't been a sound. Not even the click of a weapon's bolt slamming shut or the sound of falling brass from a discharged shell casing. That meant a silencer and a _good _one. The Lieutenant kept his weapon trained towards the end of the hall as he backed up, keeping the now sobbing woman behind him and using his own body for her protection. He needed to find an alcove or doorway or...something. Anything where he could get them out of the probable line of fire and figure out what the hell to do next. To his right, the young detective lay on the ground motionless, a clean entry wound easily visible on the back of his head.

The Lieutenant continued herding the restrained woman backwards, putting two bullets of his own through the door at the end of the hall and another into the closest visible duct overhead. Each time the weapon went off in his hands he could feel the poor girl wincing against his back as she continued silently crying again.

When they reached the closest wall, Harvey took a chance and grabbed at his radio, keeping his sidearm raised in his other hand.

"Montoya, taking fire," he managed urgently. "Three officers down, status unknown. I need you guys here _dammit_. Now." Bullock put another bullet through the same doorway at the end of the hall, trying to buy some time. "Time to hurry, kid."

"What...what're we gonna do?" Sarah half whispered, half cried in his ear as soon as he'd finished. "_God, _he's gonna kill us _all!_"

Harvey kept his eyes trained down the corridor, but emphatically shook his head once. "Not gonna happen. Listen, I wasn't lying before. We just need to hole up and wait a bit. Backup's on the way..."

"Aye, but they won't arrive nearly in time, now will they?"

It was the same familiar tone as Maddger's, but the voice was different, like there was a playfulness in it alongside a very subtle Irish lilt he'd never detected before.

Harvey spun back in the direction of the speaker, opposite the way he'd been facing. How the _hell _had the man gotten behind him?

The bullet struck him on the right side of his torso in his upper ribs before he'd completed the turn, sending him backwards to the ground. In all the chaos, Bullock barely registered his weapon leaving his hand through the sudden explosion of pain in his side. He tried to roll when he hit the tile though, tried to move with it and get back to his feet and get the hostage behind him again. But his breath caught painfully as he made it to one knee and he started coughing violently. The bullet didn't make it through the kevlar at least. That much he could tell immediately. It still packed one hell of a punch though and judging by the pain it meant broken ribs at the bare minimum. But at least he was still in the game. Now if he could just...

A whimper of panic and fear and Sarah went tearing off down the hallway, half stumbling and half running before she disappeared from view. Harvey tried to yell after her, but another sharp pain in his chest from the exertion had him wincing and holding his injured side as he braced himself against the cold tile.

"Smart lass running off like that," came the same voice conversationally. "Never good to be around dangerous people and the like. Never know when one might just get a bit...twitchy, you know?"

Bullock raised his head the slightest amount and glared at the man as he sidled up from god knows where. He still had no idea how the fake detective had managed to seemingly ambush the group from both sides.

Not that it mattered much now.

He was in nondescript, dark clothing absent his usual overcoat and hat. The large frame, semi-automatic held threateningly in his hands featured a long suppressor with a similarly silenced submachine gun strapped across his back alongside a small pack. Halfway to him he bent down and plucked the Lieutenant's sidearm off the ground, admiring it for a second before tucking it into the waistband of his pants.

Then he stomped on the handheld radio that had also fallen from his grasp.

"Didn't feel right trussing her up though," he continued absently. "Seemed like a nice enough girl. The kind you'd want to bring home to meet dear ole mom." Nigma shrugged. "Just a shame."

The Lieutenant scoffed. A reaction that made him wince as the effort again ignited the fire in his midsection. "Coulda fooled me. Guy with your track record, seems like you'd be pretty comfortable strapping bombs to poor girls so you could turn them into a pretty, red mist."

Nigma glanced up at the empty hallway the poor woman had bolted down and smiled tightly. "Ah, that?" He waved dismissively. "Nothing more than party poppers. You know, fire crackers? Nothing but a wee bit more to slow everybody down really." He shrugged and grinned again down at the Lieutenant, exposing his crooked teeth. "Hate to think of the heart attack that poor girl gets when they go off though."

Bullock shifted, gripping his ribs and hissing again in pain as he jostled the area. Even a deep breath sent stabs through his abdomen..

"Oh, and I'll be having that other piece now," Nigma said. "The one you'd hoped I'd forget on your ankle."

Carefully the Lieutenant removed the snubnosed revolver and slid it along the floor. The Riddler casually retrieved it and emptied the bullets before tossing it away.

"Well, looks like it wasn't so stupid of you to wear the vest after all," Nigma commented, crouching down across from him. Unfortunately he was careful not to venture too close. Even lunging Harvey wouldn't be able to get his hands around the man's scrawny neck. Not in time. Pity. The Riddler hissed through his teeth at the injury though, his face full of false empathy. "Painful place to be shot there. Cracked ribs, bruised lung...never a fun one. Really makes you feel it."

Harvey just glared. "So how bout you just go ahead and put me down then? Gettin' tired of listening to you blabberin'."

The other man tipped his head a little like he was considering it. "Cause where'd the fun be in that?"

Christ he wanted to shoot the guy. In the face if possible. Bullock groaned again when he moved the slightest bit, trying to find a position that eased the pressure on his ribs.

"And that's what it's all about, huh?" he asked, hissing the question at his captor. "Having some kind of sick fucking fun? Gettin' your rocks off?"

When the other man just continued smirking Bullock let his eyes sweep across the hallway. Dietrich still wasn't moving. Judging by the pool of blood that hadn't been the same kind of illusion that Sarah's predicament had apparently been. When they finally landed on Dietrich's gun tucked beneath a trash can he quickly looked back to his enemy rather than give it away.

"So, what the hell is the point in keeping me alive then?"

Nigma's grin widened. "Well, you can't have a game without a proper opponent." He shrugged. "Or opponents."

"You're a _real _sick fuck, you know that?"

The scrawny man simply withdrew an unlit cigarette from his pocket and twirled it absently between his fingers. "One man's sickness is another's genius, Lieutenant," he pointed out evenly. "I understand that can be a bit...misunderstood. It's part of the challenge."

"Misunderstood?" Bullock began before coughing again, each bout roughly jostling his wounded side. He eased back, trying to lean against the nearby wall. "You're a murderer. That's it. End of story. You fucking kill people and enjoy doing it."

"No, no...not enjoy it. Take pride in it," he replied, before taking out a large cellphone and glancing at the screen. Just as quickly he replaced it in his pocket. "There's a difference. After all, what's a man that doesn't take pride in his work?"

"What you do isn't work."

"I work diligently, get paid handsomely for what I do, and sleep well at night as a result," Nigma said, shrugging. "Call it what you will, but it's employment. On top of that, it's a very challenging field that most don't last long in, but in which I've thrived. I can't help that you don't appreciate it."

The phone buzzed again in his pocket, leading Nigma to pull it back out and glance at the device. He scrolled through something twice before finally smiling and putting it away.

"Well, I delayed them a bit, but it looks like your beloved Montoya is finally about to interrupt us. Lieutenant, it would seem that our time together is up so I'll just be on to what's next." He rose and brushed at his pants, his suppressed weapon hanging limply at his side. "Now, I'd advise you to stay put and seek medical attention with your colleagues. A rib injury like that can lead to a punctured lung or all kinds of equally horrid, painful things. But I think we both know you'll just ignore me." He saluted the Lieutenant and walked past, strolling unhurriedly past him and around the corner.

Bullock was on his feet as soon as the murderer was out of sight, using the wall and pushing through the pain before making his way unsteadily to the trash can. Gritting his teeth he managed to kneel and retrieve Dietrich's lost weapon beneath it, checking the chamber as he straightened up. Then slowly, he started off after the Riddler, catching his breath at the corner before plunging ahead.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Not a whole lot of Batman in this one. He's around though. Gotta give the GCPD a chance to shine here and there though. Otherwise they may just come across as a bunch of bumbling nitwits. Anyway...did Riddler live up to expectations thus far? Let me know._


	48. Chapter 48

_So, it's been a long, long time. As many of you who read my profile know I underwent a family tragedy back a couple months ago. It's been a very, very tough time for me and my entire family so I thank you for all your patience and well wishes. With that out of the way, this story is not on hiatus and it's not being discontinued. In fact, you're getting my longest update to date at almost 14k words. With any luck and some diligent work I should have the very explosive following chapter done quickly as an extra treat for you guys. _

_If you've got the time, please leave a review. They really are all kinds of awesome and I make sure to answer every last registered review I receive. Thoughts? Questions? Ask away. They'll all get answered. I always enjoy interacting with you guys.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>Despite the footsteps echoing hollowly around her the hallways still seemed almost...too quiet in a way. Nothing but boot steps slapping on old, faded tile and reverberating down the ancient, monotonous hallways. It was like there <em>should<em> be explosions and chaos and screaming people all around. As though there should be fire and smoke and gunfire, but wasn't. Something, anything, to mark the hunt for the Riddler and her disappeared partner besides cold, motionless bodies and an undeniably creepy peacefulness and unnerving silence.

How was it that somehow this was actually _more _unnerving? Was it the anticipation or something like that?

"Montoya, report. Didn't copy your last." The Commissioner paused on his end, sounding about as tired and beaten down as he normally did. Given the circumstances maybe even more so than usual.

As much as she respected him Renee sure as hell didn't envy his position. Police Commissioner? In this town? No thank you. The term thankless didn't even begin to cover it. Especially not after what the Joker had done to Gordon's predecessor. Who knows how he found the will and resolve to carry on? Couldn't be easy on his home life or family either. There'd been rumors for months now about the state of his marriage. Some said it was still strong while others...not so much.

"And I still haven't been able to reach Harvey since that last call went out," the older man continued when she didn't immediately respond. "Anything?"

Montoya bent down to examine the remnants of a mostly destroyed radio before bringing her own to her mouth, clicking the transmit button. Alongside the small, busted device were a pair of conspicuously unused .38 caliber bullets. Harvey's backup piece was chambered for that caliber. That was definitely...something.

A squad of six commandos moved smoothly forward ahead of the detective, lining either side of the corridor as they swept for any sign of their quarry. Another, similar squad was behind her, mounting a more thorough, precision search through each office and room they'd already passed. Working diligently nearby was another two detectives and a pair of medics looking to the bodies that had just been discovered.

Dietrich had already been pronounced dead, his body covered with a yellow tarp one of the others had produced. Curtis hadn't fared any better, his throat slashed open from behind perhaps twenty yards away. Reegar was at least alive, despite it looking pretty bad. He'd been quickly evacuated by another pair of paramedics and a small detachment of uniformed officers for the lobby and a waiting ambulance. Whether he actually arrived at the hospital still breathing or not was anybody's guess.

Renee took a breath and put the bullets back down, crouching over the scene. "Commissioner, Montoya, no sign of the Lieutenant or the boobytrapped civilian he was talking about," she said, glancing back as a tarp was placed over Dietrich too. She'd already called in the bodies. For now they'd stay put until things were less dicey and they could be dealt with properly. Now was definitely not the time to have forensics going to work. "I've got Bravo team coming up one of the other stairwells," she continued. "Hopefully one of us will run into them, but..." She delicately held up the smashed radio, turning it over in her hands. "Got a radio here. Might be Harv's. Looks like it was stomped on or something. Smashed up pretty good. He might not have a way to get in touch with us."

She could practically hear Gordon frowning through the handheld. "Alright, continue on with the search," he finally said. "Find them. Do whatever you need to, but be careful. And whatever you do, don't underestimate Nigma." She could hear a couple voices in the background as the Commissioner asked someone else a quick question. "Listen, I've got the rest of the city's tac teams showing up down here. It's taking time, but we'll get them up to date and set up as soon as we can. Till then you're it. Make do."

"Understood, sir."

She nodded to the team leader of the forward element. He'd been watching her quietly at the next intersection where they'd been waiting as she spoke with the Commissioner, their assault rifles up and scanning to protect the group. As soon as he saw the motion he put his hand on the next man's shoulder, the team rising as one and moving around the corner. The second team jogged to catch up, momentarily abandoning their search, as they took up their spot in the column ahead of the detectives. Protected by the heavily armed and armored commandos Montoya and the others brought up the rear.

None of them had any way of knowing which way Bullock may have gone. If he _had _still been escorting a hostage then he'd have likely tried to find his partner or get down to the lobby. Though if she _did _have a bomb strapped to her the lobby alternative was probably out of the question. No, he would have waited if he could or at the very least tried to find a way to check in or communicate. So, what'd that leave? Judging by the busted radio and the bodies things had gone wrong. So, he was either still in pursuit of Nigma, in pursuit of the hostage, or had been taken hostage by Nigma himself.

Or he was lying dead somewhere where they'd simply yet to find him.

Montoya banished that thought from her mind and crept forward. No blood though. No sign of him or the Riddler. Hopefully that meant something positive. Maybe. She _had _to believe that at least meant he was still alive.

The next hallway was just as empty as the last few with the exception being the several small groups of people they found holed up within the maze of rooms along it. Many of the doors they were coming across were now locked with news of the siege going on. Rather than try and evacuate everyone, causing a mass panic and exodus towards the exits that Nigma could get himself lost in, Bullock had ordered everyone barricade themselves in their offices until they received the all clear. While not a bad decision given the circumstances, it _was_ hampering the search efforts even further for now. There was simply nothing that could be done about that until there were more units on-scene to search everyone coming out of the building. Right now they just couldn't contain it with their current resources.

Montoya pulled the second team out of the most recent cluster of offices and told the inhabitants to stay put, marking the doorway with a grease pen to indicate it as cleared before exiting herself. The gang unit was the only major squad room still along their current route. Dispatch was back and down one of the side corridors and the white collar unit was back the opposite way they'd come from the elevators. Those units still meant a lot of cops and a lot of guns. Renee figured Nigma would avoid those. Probably.

"Detective, Bravo Team, uh...we've found someone here," came the staticky call from her radio. "Female, blond hair, average build...I'd say she's the woman the Lieutenant was talking about earlier. She certainly seems scared shitless enough."

Montoya flattened herself against a nearby wall and crouched as the other detectives proceeded on past her. Quietly, she motioned for the group to push on. "Does she still have the grenades around her wrists?"

"Uh, hard to tell. She's not exactly thrilled about letting us get anywhere near her and I don't exactly want to get closer than I have to with her in her current state. Frankly, she's pretty hysterical at the moment, ma'am. From what I _can _see...yeah, I'd say they're still there. And she's going on and on about some cop that tried to help her and got shot."

That froze Renee for a moment. No blood she repeated in her head. There'd been no blood _and _Harvey had been wearing his vest. In and of itself, getting shot didn't mean a thing.

"Any sign of the Lieutenant?" she tried.

"Ah, negative. Sorry."

She looked back down the empty hallway, scanning for anything now that she was last in the slow procession. "Copy that. And what's your position now?"

"Fourth floor," came the clipped response. "Women's bathroom near the easternmost emergency stairwell."

Montoya nodded. That would be back the way they came past the white collar's offices through a part of the building they hadn't explored. Not a place to just go casually strolling.

"We're not far," she said. "Stay put. I'm on my way to you. In the meantime, try and keep her calm until I get there and contact the EOD guys. We're gonna need them. Till then try and keep your distance unless there's no other choice."

"Understood, ma'am."

She turned to look back at her own group holding at the next intersection. One of her fellow detectives nodded his understanding of the news they'd heard over their own communication devices.

"Alright, Alpha, proceed forward at your discretion," Montoya whispered into her radio, motioning them to move on. "Finish the sweep of the floor and then head down one. We'll meet you there when we can. Mac, Riley...you stay with them and hang on to the paramedics. Call if there's even the slightest thing out of the ordinary, but absolutely no heroics. Charlie team, you're with me. We're heading to Bravo."

Silently, six of the black clad troopers peeled off and jogged back to her position, the rest of the procession continuing on down the next section of hallway without looking back before disappearing entirely. Charlie element's leader stopped opposite her, his heavy blast resistant goggles hiding his eyes and expression from Montoya as he leaned in.

"Hang a right past white collar to the eastern emergency stairs." she explained. "Let's skirt the outer hallways. Bravo's holed up at the woman's bathroom nearby."

He merely nodded and motioned for his men to take up position, alertly stepping to either side of the corridor. Montoya went back to her radio.

"Commissioner?"

"We heard," came her boss's hurried response. The sounds of sirens and shouted orders was clear on his end of the line. It sounded like there was a lot going on out there. "Ordinance removal unit is scrambling. You'll beat them there, but hopefully not by too much. Do what you can until they're on-scene."

The detective paused, calculating her next question carefully. This was an open comm line so pretty much anybody on the force could be listening in. "Is there any sign of..._him_...yet?"

Hopefully most people figured she meant her partner.

That caught Gordon for a second judging by the momentary pause. It didn't take him long to understand she wasn't referring to Nigma though. "No, nothing," he said carefully. "But my guess is he's nearby."

In the background Montoya could hear the sound of another siren screaming past the Commissioner.

"He always is."

* * *

><p><em>Fifteen minutes earlier...<em>

Nothing. Still absolutely, frustratingly nothing.

The basement of One Police Plaza was old, but outwardly you wouldn't necessarily know it at a glance. Sometime throughout the years it had been upgraded and refurbished alongside the rest of the building to keep it modern and capable of handling the world in which it now resided. The colors were muted and neutral and the cold, generic tile much the same variety that filled most of the rest of the building.

Bruce closed the door of the latest storage room softly, letting the latch slide into place slowly before releasing the doorknob. After checking down the nearest cross corridor he headed further in, making his way for the next collection of rooms.

Interior designers for civic facilities were anything if not predictable when it came to the materials and colors they chose. Everything was just a general, antiseptic...blandness. But, then again, it was also probably a reflection on their client. Government bodies weren't exactly well known for an imagination or an endless money stream.

This level _had_ been redone with the intention to populate it, making full use of the entirety of the building's facilities in creating a capable, modern police force. Wayne Enterprises had even had a hand in it. However, sometime around the peak of Carmine Falcone's power, at the height of the department's corruption, those plans were summarily scrapped. One of Commissioner Loeb's cost saving measures.

So, here it sat, unused and mostly barren. Even the cleaning crews had given up on taking care of the place judging by the thin coating of dust on most of the features and the canvas cloths draped over what little furniture there was. Likely they didn't have the manpower to keep up since the additional personnel were never hired to run the level in the first place.

Bruce skipped the next two unmarked doors. On the plans those had been marked as nothing more than small utility closets. Not nearly enough room to stash the amount of explosives he was likely looking for. He stopped at the next one in line though and tried the knob before crouching to examine the lock.

"It sounds as though the good Lieutenant's attempt to capture Mister Nigma has gone a bit...awry, sir."

Bruce shook his head and finished picking the lock, opening the door to yet another old storage and records room. Tapped in as they were he heard the call from Bullock going out over the police band. Nigma hadn't even been in their custody for ten minutes before he'd managed to escape. Now the Lieutenant was hurriedly trying to cobble together a search.

"I heard," he muttered, sliding the door fully open. "Can't say I didn't warn them." It didn't take a detailed examination to see that there was nothing here. Nothing that could bring down a building the size of Police Plaza anyway. He quickly exited, closing the door securely behind him before moving to the next one.

"You don't think you should intervene then?"

The next door wasn't even locked. The billionaire shouldered it open though, quickly dismissing the dank, dusty room behind it as well. Nigma wouldn't just leave his master plan unsecured for anyone to stumble upon. Hell, there was every likelihood that it might even be booby trapped.

"No," he finally said though, striding further into the basement's recesses. "They're ignoring the bigger picture. If the bomb's here he'll have too much leverage for them to keep him in custody. We take care of that so Nigma stays behind bars."

"I pray I don't need to remind you of the numerous lives at stake as well?"

Bruce just ignored the comment and continued on. He had more important things going on at the moment than to debate the hierarchy of his motivations with Alfred.

Of course, it went without saying that saving lives was the most important matter at hand. He wasn't some egomaniac out for the simple thrill of being the Batman or the competition in stopping Nigma. This was about the people of Gotham. Always. This was about trying to ensure that no child ever had to go through what he had. Not if he had the ability to put a stop to it. It was about making a better city. A better home.

That didn't mean that if the perpetrator wasn't brought in things like this wouldn't just continue happening though. You needed to cut the problem off at the root so it withered and died. Allowing things to continue on unchecked was simply unacceptable. Now, maybe it _was_ a poor choice of words on his part. Maybe it wasn't. To Bruce it didn't matter. No matter the underlying reason he was doing what needed to be done. Simple. The bomb needed to be prevented from ever going off. What was the point in debating how he reached that train of thought?

To Alfred though that wasn't always good enough. To him motivation counted for a lot...if not _everything. _The principles behind a man's actions equaled the action itself. After all, accidentally doing good was not _being _good if it was accomplished with evil or even the wrong intentions in mind? The reason that the Batman wasn't _just _a simple vigilante came down to this, his motivations. That he was striving and sacrificing for a greater good. For a greater Gotham.

Bruce knew the older man worried that he'd lose himself in the cape and cowl. That he'd lose his connections to humanity or his focus or the reasons he inserted himself into this fight in the first place. That much had been obvious since even before Rachel's death. Her passing had only served to increase the old man's fears. And his nagging.

But, Bruce wasn't about to sacrifice innocents to get Nigma. Never. There was a line there that would never be crossed. For anyone. Even the Joker. He could only hope that his oldest friend and ally still truly believed in that. Believed in him.

"_Either _way," Bruce finally replied, checking the dim back corner of what once had been an antechamber with several smaller offices branching off of it, "we _have _to take it out of the picture. Nothing good is going to happen with it hanging over everyone's heads. That hasn't changed. I can help Gordon catch him afterward, but for now we have to ensure that they can hang on to him once they actually _do_ have him in custody. So, I have to keep looking."

"Yes sir," came the reluctant response.

Thankfully, Alfred knew when the time was appropriate for such conversations and went they weren't. Of course, Bruce knew he'd be hearing about this again at some point. In some ways he appreciated the grounding they provided, despite their annoyance. Deep down he knew he needed that counterpoint. Something to remind him why he was here so it didn't slowly get perverted and distorted with time.

"Miss Kyle and I have a thought on the search actually."

Bruce flexed his jaw involuntarily. He'd reluctantly agreed to keep open communications with Alfred after it had proven so effective with Lucius in the final hunt for the Joker. His butler had argued that things like his poisoning at the hands of Jonathan Crane would be much easier to react to if he wasn't caught so off guard by them. The Wraith and its surveillance capabilities had only served to further strengthen that link, making his butler a more and more integral part of being the Batman.

Still, it didn't mean he wanted to be discussing options and alternatives all the time. This wasn't meant to be a democracy. Besides, talking and conversing weren't generally his strong suits to begin with, but doubly so when he was trying to concentrate and or finding himself knee deep in a dangerous situation. At this point he just wanted to be working on the damn problem at hand while more and more it was beginning to seem as though his time of being a single, solitary operator was quickly disappearing.

Rounding the next corner carefully though he also considered his options.

The main corridors traveling east to west had been all but deserted since he got down here and the connectors running perpendicular weren't much busier. In fact, now that he went back through the last forty-five minutes he'd really only passed two people since the interview with Bullock was cut short and he'd made his way down into the basement. The lack of passerby made the search fairly efficient at least. He'd covered far more ground in that time than he had upstairs within the main building.

Still, he hadn't found anything in all that searching. Nothing. Not even footprints in the dust. And now, with Nigma on the loose and Bullock's men after him it was only a matter of time before the Riddler may be forced to employ his contingency. Time and speed was definitely of the essence and as much as he didn't like it, he could use all the help he could get if it meant narrowing things down.

"I'm listening," he said simply, closing the door to the last dusty office behind him.

"Well, it would seem that there's a rather...secret sub basement beneath Police Plaza."

Bruce frowned, stopping in his tracks and checking his surroundings. That was certainly news to him. The blueprints he'd poured through were detailed and had looked complete enough. Granted, it hadn't been as thorough a look as he'd have liked, but he'd probably have noticed something on the plans like a whole other floor.

"Sub basement?" he asked. "You're sure? There wasn't anything about a sub basement in the documents we looked at, Alfred. This was as far down as things went."

"Yes sir, I know. An oversight I'm afraid. One we only recently caught and remedied. It's likely even most of the police force don't know it exists."

Bruce slowly began moving forward again, skipping the old closets and utility panels for the larger rooms that appeared at regular intervals.

"So how exactly do we know about it then?"

"Ah, well that would be thanks to Miss Kyle actually," Alfred replied. "She noticed a discrepancy of sorts in the plans and managed to figure it out."

"You're welcome by the way," Bruce heard her chime in over his butler's shoulder. "Not too often I get to save the day. I'm generally on the...other side of the spectrum. I'll let you thank me later."

After a brief pause Alfred simply continued on unperturbed. "There appears to be a marked doorway with a page reference, but no corresponding room or page within the drawings. She theorized it could be referencing a completely different set of blueprints. Something older and obsolete. Eventually, after some digging, she was proven correct. Apparently she's seen this type of thing before in preparation for some of her past...escapades."

Bruce again looked left and right. An all but hidden floor would be the perfect hiding place for Nigma's back-up plan. Almost nobody would look in a place that damn few knew even existed. It would also be set deep amongst the building's foundations and structural supports, providing the perfect place to bring about catastrophic damage, structural failure, and a possible collapse. So, the next question then was where was the entrance?

"So, you found an older set of plans to the building?" he commented quickly, trying to speed things along.

"Yes, sir. In fact, I believe they're the original sets, given the dates on them. They've been in the archives at Gotham Library's Main Branch. Luckily for us they were also just recently scanned as part of the city's efforts to better digitally document its own history."

"And you have access?"

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.

"Let's just say that Miss Kyle has her...methods," Alfred eventually offered. "I _will _say she's better with a computer than I expected."

"Eh," Selina interjected absently. "There's always more than one way to part a schmuck from his money."

It was putting his eggs in one basket, but a hidden sub basement was the ideal spot to hide something. Especially something big, obtrusive, and instantly recognizable as dangerous. With Nigma loose and their time limited that's where he should be concentrating his energy. They no longer had the luxury of being overly thorough.

"Okay," Bruce said, decision made. "Where?"

"Sir, before you go storming off there was something else."

Now the interruptions were just getting frustrating. Inaction was almost as bad as no action. "Alfred..."

The older man either ignored him or didn't hear his name to begin with, but either way he pressed on. "What of the increased police presence?" he asked hurriedly. Bruce remained quiet. "Given the current circumstances Commissioner Gordon is sure to call in a great deal more officers. That will surely make things more...difficult for you."

"For me?"

"Well, for Bruce Wayne perhaps."

That was...actually a very good point. At the moment they were scrambling, but the police wouldn't be off balance for long. Given time the building would be practically flooded with officers looking for the Riddler. Once that happened the likelihood of himself remaining hidden would start going down as well. And if Bruce Wayne was found there was no way they were going to allow him to stay. So, that meant it was time to _not_ be Bruce Wayne anymore.

Dammit.

He'd have to backtrack up to the building proper, but that couldn't really be helped. An expensive two piece business suit might fit his persona as a billionaire, but it left precious little space to smuggle in an armored outfit and his tools. Luckily he'd thought ahead and made provisions.

"The package is prepped?" he asked, turning on his heel and sprinting back through the empty hallways.

"Yes sir. Awaiting your word for delivery."

Bruce hit the basement's wide, central hall and plowed around the corner. Within a minute he was plunging through the double access doors and taking the steel steps two at a time on his way up.

"On my way," he managed despite his heavy breathing. "You have a clear drop zone?"

"For the moment, Master Wayne. Thermal imaging shows the loading dock is currently unoccupied."

The billionaire headed left once he emerged on the main floor. As with most buildings, the receiving area was to the rear where it would be the least visually obtrusive but still closely adjacent to the street. Today that seclusion would hopefully also offer him some privacy. If not then someone was about to get an eyeful.

Slowing down he adjusted his tie, smoothing it and hopefully regaining a bit more of his composure despite the flushed cheeks. In stark contrast to the chaos probably going on several floors above with Bullock scrambling after Nigma, down here things were surprisingly normal. The same flow of people moving to and fro as they went about their day. It wouldn't last, but at least for the moment a running billionaire would draw far too much attention. As inconspicuously as possible he approached the large loading doors marked receiving.

"Execute," he whispered, pushing through with barely any hesitation.

"Of course, sir. Package is on its way."

* * *

><p>"What was that? Somebody report dammit!"<p>

When the first explosions went off, echoing down the hall and seeming to come from every direction at once, Montoya and her team were still proceeding steadily past the white collar unit's back entrance along the floor's outer perimeter. It wasn't much as far as detonations went, really barely more than a loud _bang_, but in the relative silence it may as well have been a howitzer. Another, louder explosion followed almost immediately afterward though, ushering in a kind of strangely high pitched whistle even later.

The tactical unit members froze immediately at the sound and crouched, hugging the walls as their training kicked in, keeping them alert to their surroundings, but not making any potentially rash decisions as they evaluated the situation. In sharp contrast, Renee went tearing past them, running down the corridor towards the distinctive sounds with little to no hesitation. Looking back she wouldn't understand the reasoning past just wanting to help. Despite their own better judgement it only took the black clad squad members with her a moment before they followed hard behind her.

"Montoya? Detective, where are you? Anyone? Is there anyone on four?"

Still sprinting Renee fumbled for her radio, almost dropping it before she managed to hit the transmit button.

"Commissioner, I'm on my way. No idea what's going on, but that didn't seem very big, sir."

"We barely even heard it out here," Gordon seemed to confirm. "Just a bunch of brief flashes. But, I'm not getting anything from Bravo team either."

"Well, I'm not far now. No signs of damage or anything. Hell, the building didn't even..."

She pulled up to a halt suddenly, barely avoiding getting flattened by the tactical officers coming up hard behind her. The building...

"Montoya?" Gordon tried.

"The building didn't even shake," she finally finished, starting forward again, but at a much slower, more cautious pace, her weapon back up and trained forward alertly. The commandos, ever perceptive, joined her in becoming far more wary, leveling their weapons and proceeding forward with the detective.

Grenades, while not nearly as powerful as the movies generally made them appear to be, still would have packed enough concussive blast to at least slightly shake the old building. Even if just for a moment. They _would _have felt it in addition to hearing it. Not only that, but the high pitched whistle had sounded more like a...well...like the firecrackers her dad lit in the street on Independence Day when she was a girl.

The next hallway was choked with thick gray smoke, the haze hanging in the tight confines and obscuring much of anything. Unfortunately, this _was_ the right place. The restroom that had been their objective all along was only another twenty yards or so ahead of her. The restroom where the woman with the grenades had been found by Bravo team.

So, something had happened and nobody was responding to calls. What the hell?

A dark shape lurched forward, separating itself from the murk behind it. Bent over slightly at the waste, whoever it was doubled over again and coughed roughly.

Montoya's firearm came up instinctively, zeroing in on the unidentified person's center mass. "Gotham police," she called, "identify yourself." When she was met by just more coughing she pressed forward, her weapon unwavering. "_Now_."

"Shit, don't fire." Some more coughing followed up soon afterward doubling the shape over even as the man tried to straighten up, holding his hands up defensively. "Montoya? That you?"

Her gun dropped immediately and she motioned for the others to follow. The gait was familiar enough that it served to reinforce the raspy voice and immediately identify its owner. Boyd Heller was one of the older members of her unit. He'd been around since before even Gordon had headed up the MCU. A car had clipped him in his youth, leaving his knee a bit of a mess and giving him his distinctive saunter. His own general laziness kept him from moving up the ranks despite being an insightful and experienced detective.

"Jesus, Heller."

She tucked herself under his arm and eased him down into a sitting position, propping him up against the wall. Hopefully the smoke would be thinner lower down and he'd have an easier time of it. Unfortunately the building's ancient ventilation system seemed to be having trouble clearing away the haze. It had dissipated the slightest bit, but still hung heavily overhead.

"You okay?"

The older man just smiled weakly at her and nodded. "Just gettin' older's all this is. I'll be fine."

"Where's Bravo? What happened here?"

"Christ. Not entirely sure." He coughed again, but more lightly this time. "One minute I was tryin' to calm that crazy ass lady down again, the next _boom_." He shook his head before resting it back against the wall. "Thought I was a goner for sure. Soon's I realized my fingers and toes were still attached I got the hell outta Dodge. Figured it was a dud or somethin'. Wasn't gonna take any more chances till I got help."

Montoya looked up and back down the corridor. Further shapes could be seen in the haze now as things still slowly cleared. Probably Bravo team considering one looked to be affixing a gas mask into place. The two others she could see were also coughing a bit, but seemed to be trying to take up defensive positions facing opposite her.

"Okay," she said, rubbing his shoulder. He blinked a couple times up at her as he continued trying to take deep breaths. "You stay here and keep your head down. I'm gonna find out what we've got."

She managed to not surprise any of the commandos further down the hall which was a plus, announcing her presence well down the hall and praying none of them were especially jumpy or trigger happy. After a brief consultation she finally managed to proceed into the bathroom, leaving Charlie's troopers stationed outside alongside what she'd seen of Bravo.

The restroom was probably even worse than the hallway, the smoke thick and acrid up high and not as dissipated down low. Even Renee found herself crouching the slightest bit to try and stay under the worst of it. Other than the haze the bathroom strangely seemed almost normal. There was no obvious damage to be seen at first glance, the clean old subway tile still its normal off-white, cream color and the overhead lights still glowing dimly through the grayness. In one corner, toward the back though there were obvious scorch marks on the wall and ground, though it was nothing extensive or more than superficial.

The two medics attached to Bravo were working on the woman in question in the opposite corner, near the row of sinks. One knelt at her side, whispering reassuringly as the other went about his business. She looked shaken from what Renee could see, but rational enough to nod at one question aimed at her. No longer having explosives strapped to you would probably have that effect on almost anyone.

"Detective?"

One of the masked men walked up, his eyes barely visible through the lenses of the gas mask on his face. Based on his uniform marking he was probably the team leader, but without seeing him she couldn't be sure. Montoya nodded. "What do we know?"

He gestured to the civilian on the floor and the medics.

"One injury," he said. "Nothing to me or my men. Whatever it was wasn't high explosives. I'd say ordinary firecrackers...and given the smoke probably some kind of smoke bomb too. No idea if the smoke is poisonous or not, but I'd assume not." Montoya's blood froze a bit at that. She hadn't even contemplated the smoke being toxic, just barreling right into it in search of the missing officers. It _would _be a pretty good way for Nigma to thin out his pursuers. God, that was a chilling thought. The tactical officer, oblivious to her mounting dread nodded again towards the woman. "You can ask the medic about her status, but she seems mostly okay to me." He paused, adding almost as an afterthought, "Still no sign of the Lieutenant though."

Renee just watched as one of the medic fixed an oxygen mask into place over the victim's nose and mouth.

"Any reason you weren't answering your radios?"

"These things don't support comms, ma'am," he said, tapping the gas mask. "Design oversight that's also a major pain in my ass. Can't answer for why your detective didn't respond though."

One of the other commandos was kneeling nearby over some shredded paper along one of the spent devices. He held up one of the larger pieces in a gloved hand. "Black Cats," he said, noting the brand on the wrapper and drawing the eyes of both Renee and the anonymous team leader. "Big ones. Looks like they were stuffed into the shells. Damn things were hollowed out, drilled, and patched so the fireworks could burst out."

Montoya knelt next to him, noting the discoloration from the heat coating the empty husks of the grenades and a myriad of small holes down their axis. Eventually she picked one of them up, holding it up to what light there was to look inside.

"I don't get it," said one of the other helmeted men behind her. "What was the point of all this? Why didn't he just kill her? I mean, shit. He probably could have taken a few of us out as well. We were sure packed in here tight enough."

Renee didn't answer, just as confused as the rest of them. It wasn't like he'd shied away from killing cops in the past. So, what was this then? If the smoke wasn't toxic, then why go to all this trouble?

"Maybe a way to delay or mislead us?" the crouched commando offered, still examining the firework wrappers and other debris closely.

"Seems like turning us into hamburger would have been just as effective."

Montoya stood up, angrily tossing the piece of grenade she'd been examining down. "Either way," she said, wiping her hands frustratedly. "I'd say it's just his way of _fucking_ laughing at us. His way of letting us know he can just toy with the lot of us." The other men didn't have a response to that. "Listen, get outside and report in to the Commissioner, will ya? Let him know everyone's okay and that we'll be evacuating the woman soon. Still no sign of Lieutenant Bullock though." Before he could turn to go she grabbed his arm. "And maybe see about getting this smoke dissipated. I don't know...crack a window or something."

Silently, Montoya made her way over to the paramedics working on the woman as the team leader jogged off, motioning to one of them before leading him off to the side several paces by the elbow.

"First, how's she doing?"

The taller man glanced back at the small form wrapped in a blanket before nodding. "Burned. Nothing life threatening. I'd say second degree over her hands and wrists. Maybe some of her forearms too. First degree to a bit of her face and neck. Her clothes make it look a lot worse than it actually is."

"So, she'll be okay?"

The medic nodded. "Should be, yeah. Can't speak to the emotional damage of course. She's had a hard time."

"Right. Okay. But, can I talk to her? I mean, does she have it together enough to answer a few questions?"

"That," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "might be pushing it a bit." After another moment of thought he seemed to sigh and concede that he knew where this was heading. "Listen, she's pretty fragile. I'll let you try, but go easy and try to keep it brief. We need to get her outta here and the moment she starts falling apart at all, you're done."

Montoya nodded silently and turned back to the bandaged woman. She stared glassily ahead, emptily looking at nothing as the second paramedic crouched beside her, gingerly wrapping her brightly reddened and slightly blistered forearms in gauze.

Taking the first medic's place kneeling at her side, Montoya waited until the blond realized there was someone new nearby, her head turning the slightest bit to look at the new arrival.

"Hi," she said, keeping her voice low and smiling as reassuringly as she could. "My name's Renee. I'm a detective with the Gotham Police Department. Listen, we're gonna get you out of here in just a couple seconds, alright?" She waited for the dazed looking woman to react a second, her pupils focusing on the young police officer and her expression registering her attentiveness. "Before we do though I'd like to ask you about something. Would you mind?" The woman stared at her for a few seconds before finally closing her eyes and tiredly nodding her head. "One of the other officers said you mentioned a guy from before? Someone who was trying to help you out?" Again she nodded. "Can you tell me who he was?"

The blond, Sarah, blinked at that before frowning. "I...I...he didn't tell me his name I guess," she managed. "He was a big guy. Had on a light brown overcoat and...well...I mean, it's kind of a blur."

"Okay." Montoya pulled out her phone, quickly scrolling through her photos until she came to one she'd snapped of Harvey. Typical of him he'd been less than enthusiastic for it and his scowling face spoke to how much he just wanted it over with. Renee held it up for the small blond to see. "Is this him?"

She nodded immediately, her eyes widening in recognition. Bingo.

"Okay, good. You're doing great. Now, can you tell me what happened to him? Why isn't he still with you? Were you separated?"

Sarah shook her head before cradling it in her hands and starting to quietly shake. "He's...he's dead," she managed between sobs. "He just...killed him. Shot him."

Renee's blood froze in her veins and she swallowed hard. No blood. They'd found no blood and no body and this was a pretty unreliable witness. It _had _to be something else. "You're sure?" she asked, trying to sooth the woman's nerves. Gently she put a hand on her forearm. "He was wearing his bulletproof vest and we didn't find him with the others. You sure it's not possible he was still alive?"

That got the woman to glance up through tear stained eyes. The expression of doubt on her face was strangely relieving.

"You didn't actually see him die, did you?" Montoya continued. "You just saw him get hit. Just heard the shot. Am I right?"

She sniffled, but reluctantly nodded her head.

Maybe it was Renee putting words in Sarah's mouth or maybe it was actually fact based investigation, but either way it made the young detective feel slightly better. Harvey was alive. In a city like Gotham optimism was a trait that wound up squashed fairly quickly. You tended to take what bits of it you could get. Nothing was conclusive, but there'd been no body and she knew from firsthand experience that Bullock was a tough son of a bitch. No, he was alive. He was too mean to die this easily.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you more," Sarah said, interrupting Renee's thoughts. "I panicked and ran. I'm so sorry."

"No, no, you did fine. You gave us plenty. How about we get you out of here?"

The other young woman nodded tiredly again before the paramedic slid the oxygen mask back into place as Montoya rose.

Great. So, she was at least optimistic that Harvey was alive, but still had no idea where exactly he could be. Back to square one then. Back to slowly and fruitlessly searching through one room after the other. Hopefully the Commissioner would get more feet on the ground soon. If she was going to find her partner she'd need help. Nigma be damned.

As though it knew that things were too quiet the building suddenly shook, its aging walls groaning from the minute vibrations as something rumbled several floors below them. Montoya braced herself with one hand against the tile wall, looking up as the light fixture above rattled in its casing. A shower of fine dust leaked between the drop ceiling's tiles raining a thin layer down on the bathroom's inhabitants. Behind her Renee heard Sarah start quietly crying again. Then she went tearing out down the hall for the nearest staircase. If she knew Harvey and his penchant for being at the heart of the shitstorm, he wouldn't be far away from that blast.

"_Dammit_, Harvey," she muttered, motioning for several of the commandos to follow her as she passed them. "Where in the hell are you?"

* * *

><p>Plaster came raining down, one slightly larger chunk breaking against Bullock's shoulder before he had the opportunity to duck into the nearest doorway. Growling under his breath he brushed the fine mist from his coat, wishing again for a radio so he could figure out what the hell was going on outside his own little bubble.<p>

That had been the second explosion in the last sixty seconds with both definitely located toward the back of the building near the motor pool. The sprawling, bare concrete garage was part of the basement level, providing covered parking for a majority of the department's squad cars, crime scene vans, and tactical vehicles. Hell, behind a razor wire paddock in one corner the blasted, twisted remains of the Batman's first car still sat stoically.

Not that it had done them any good in figuring out who the hell the man was. Damn thing was practically melted by the time the cops had found it.

Get a fire going in the garage though and there'd be enough full fuel tanks to keep it going for quite awhile. Combined with the smoke and destruction of the department's valuable resources it could turn into a goddamn nightmare.

At least Harvey seemed to be on the right track. Nigma's trail was leading him _towards_ the detonations so that had to mean something. Right? Another distraction? Create enough chaos and slip by everyone in the smoke and disarray? Lord knows there were some pretty big exits to the street from the motor pool. Who knows if they were all adequately covered by now? Harvey grimaced at the motion and the pressure it put on his injured side, but doubled his pace anyway, jogging heavily down the silent corridor before shouldering into yet another stairwell.

The slippery little asshole didn't even seem to care that he had pursuit, sliding into a vent shaft on the landing between the third and fourth floor with a smile and wave at the much larger detective. It was more than a little infuriating, exacerbated by the fact that he then couldn't fit into the ducting to give chase and was forced to guess what floor the prick exited. At least now he seemed to be back on the right course.

Unless Nigma was actually heading in the opposite direction of the blasts.

Somehow that didn't seem his style though. He seemed the sort to want to experience his own particular brand of mayhem and destruction firsthand. To revel in it. To bask in his own superiority. Frankly Bullock would prefer stupidity as far as character traits were concerned, but if all he had to go on was Nigma's hubris and pride...well, it'd have to do.

Leaning against the wall to catch his breath at the bottom of the stairs the Lieutenant tried to brace himself against the wall to ease the pressure the rising and falling of his chest exerted on his rib cage. If it did anything at all to help his suffering though he couldn't really tell. All in all it seemed like there was really no relief from the near constant pain emanating across his torso. Not without completely ceasing to breathe anyway. For what seemed like the thousandth time he grit his teeth instead and righted himself.

Christ, hopefully Sarah was faring better than him at this point. At least she'd be alive to enjoy things assuming Nigma was telling the truth about his little decoy. And he wasn't exactly about to take that man's word at face value.

Smoke billowed through the open doors into the motor pool's garage, inky black against the sterile off-white walls and floor tile. He could already hear faint coughing and hacking from several people set against the sharp cry of car alarms and further punctuated by an occasional shouted command as officers and first responders arrived to try and seize control of the situation.

The Lieutenant pulled up briefly inside, ducking up against the side of a patrol car where the air was still clean. A light gust of wind blew across his face and he frowned. There was absolutely no heat. This much smoke would require a hell of a lot of fire and fuel to produce, right? From the outward looks of things the entire parking structure should be heating up quickly with the concrete reflecting all that energy right back in where it would build and build. But, it just...wasn't. He held his hand up into the mass of dark gray swirling above him. It wasn't quite cold to the touch, but it also wasn't the warmed, ash filled air that he'd expect it to be given the circumstances. It almost felt...artificial somehow. Like that crap those awful metal bands pump out during their shows.

What the hell? Was this nothing more than another...diversion?

A voice from somewhere off to Bullock's left amid the chaos, an officer speaking steadily into a radio, was suddenly cut-off mid-sentence. With a groan the Lieutenant was off in that direction, weaving his way through a sea of parked squad cars and bare concrete pillars in the vague direction he'd last heard the man. As he pushed forward the smoke, or whatever the hell it was, seemed to grow thicker by the step. Likely he was nearing whatever it was Nigma was using to create this mess. Perhaps even whatever it was he was trying to screen within the gloom. His escape route?

It took searching up and down three rows before he even found the officer's discarded radio and even then he barely managed to notice that given all the other stimulus overwhelming his senses. If not for a small, jagged piece of plastic there'd have been no sign anyone had been there at all. Unfortunately, like his it'd been destroyed, smashed and then casually disposed of beneath a nearby unmarked patrol car. Harvey stretched and pulled it out anyway, testing it gingerly while still trying to cling to the last inkling of hope it represented. The things _were_ built pretty damn tough after all. Maybe there'd be just enough juice left for him to make contact with someone on the outside. Maybe Nigma missed that one crucial component or something when he broke it. Anything was better than continuing to fly blind down here and at this point he'd take whatever help Gordon could throw his way. Hell, he'd even take the stupid costumed freak with the ears over nothing at all.

The Lieutenant almost laughed when he realized he was _that _desperate.

When the various knobs and buttons wouldn't elicit even the faintest hiss of static though he threw the whole contraption away disgustedly. Had to give the jackass credit, he certainly seemed to be thorough.

So, now he was blindly searching the motor pool for what was probably an already dead cop or any signs of the Riddler. Swell.

Bullock pushed away from the cruiser and started for where he knew the nearest perimeter wall was. If _he _was trying to avoid attention or temporarily hide a body that's where he'd be.

Far to his right somewhere, hidden through the thick haze, lay the ramp up a level that eventually led to one of the garage's yawning entrances. All he'd have to do is change course and he could get the hell out. Find Gordon, find Montoya, maybe get a bit of medical attention or some painkillers, and work on the search from that end. He wouldn't be hot on the man's trail any longer, but he also wouldn't be flying solo and without any real idea of the greater situation.

He rounded the back of two white crime scene vans and skirted along the wall, still trying to stay as low as he could despite his ribs screaming every step of the way.

Giving up wasn't _him _though. Not when he partially blamed himself for this mess to begin with. And most certainly not when good men had died. No, Nigma was _his _responsibility. Could he at least manage a few minutes to try and find some back-up though? He could still hear the occasional shout from the front of the garage. At the very least he could grab some uniformed officers to go with him and maybe grab another radio in the process.

A small smear of blood on the bare concrete dissuaded him from pursuing that thought process any further. If Nigma had indeed slipped up then he needed to be here to capitalize on it. It wasn't much, but at least the shape of the stain provided a general direction heading back away from the garage's exit. Odd that it was going away from the surest route to freedom, but then again half the stuff Nigma did didn't seem to make much sense to the grizzled detective. The acrid black smoke for example. Still, with begrudging respect Harvey had to admit that his unorthodox methods generally seemed to produce results.

The thickening haze meant Bullock almost tripped over the splayed out feet jutting from between a pair of sedans. The officer had a single entry wound just above his temple with no corresponding exit wound. Probably a small caliber to have not gone all the way through. Either that or the shot had been made from a distance. He'd been dumped unceremoniously, part of his torso propped up against the rear tire of one of the vehicles, eyes open and glassily staring upwards toward the ceiling. There was also a small, purple question mark shaped pin affixed to his lapel.

The Lieutenant leaned down to take a pulse. It was almost certainly futile, but with Nigma nothing ever seemed completely certain. When there was nothing the Lieutenant mumbled a quiet apology and turned to go.

He was halfway back up when the significance of the poor man's pose finally hit Harvey. Rather than being harshly discarded as he'd originally thought, the officer had actually been laid with a purpose, his one arm propped against the vehicle and roughly pointing back past Bullocks shoulder. The left hand though lay in his lap, flipping the Lieutenant the bird. For some reason, that's the one that spurred him into action.

Bullock dropped, trying to ignore the stab of pain that exploded in his torso just as a bullet embedded itself into the concrete where his head had been a moment before, gouging out a small chunk of the gray material.

"Such grace, Lieutenant," called a smugly familiar voice. "Like a regular cat, you are." Another bullet whizzed overhead, striking the concrete wall mere inches from where Bullock sat against the tire of the police cruiser. "Somehow I knew you wouldn't be dissuaded by what happened upstairs. Bravo. Your perseverance is to be commended. However," another bullet embedded itself into the car's hood above his head, "I grow tired of this and can't afford the distraction. It's about time our little game ends."

Bullock still had no idea where the shots were coming from. Nigma's silenced weapon made it all but impossible to get a good read and tracking his voice was tricky in the echoing depths of the parking garage. For all he knew the man was sneaking up on him at this very moment. He needed to keep him talking while he worked things out further.

"Thought you never missed, Nigma," he shouted without rising. "You're getting sloppy." The bulky Lieutenant heaved himself over a little, trying make himself smaller and put more of the tire and engine block between him and the man trying to kill him. As though his mind had been read a bullet skid across the asphalt next to his thigh kicking up a tiny plume of aggregate. So, Nigma was shooting _under _the cars now.

Nigma scoffed. To Harvey it almost sounded like it came from further to the right than it had before. "Hardly," he said. "Nobody's perfect my good man. Nobody. It's more important that people _think _I don't miss. I'm sure you can understand how reputation is everything in my line of work."

"Yeah, well that last one wasn't even close prick."

Bullock reached up and grabbed the car's side mirror, wrenching it back and forth a few times until the cheap plastic finally gave and the thing came off in his hand. He might not be able to peek his head out to get a good look at Nigma's position, but a mirror would certainly do the trick in a pinch. Harvey grinned to himself. Two could be resourceful at this game.

He'd held it up for all of five seconds, craning his neck to try and angle it for the optimal look when it practically exploded in his hand, a bullet passing completely through it dead center.

"And how was that one?"

Nigma's voice was definitely closer to him now, almost sounding as though he was circling the back of the cars trying to flank the Lieutenant. They weren't even speaking that loudly toward each other at this point. Bullock fingered his own weapon and eyed the end of the vehicle he was sitting against. When the man stopped talking completely is when he'd really need to start worrying though. Until then, he'd keep his own firearm a secret.

"And what the _hell _is with all the smoke?" he asked, shouting back over the hood louder than he needed to and ignoring the last shot altogether. "Sure as hell ain't no fire around here. You trying to choke me to death or something? Cause it's really _fucking _annoying."

Nigma laughed at that, obviously still unworried about their situation. "Why, I'd think it was obvious. Heat my good Lieutenant. Heat. It destroys. Create enough of it and any fire combined with the overwhelming heat it produces can compromise even the thickest reinforced concrete. Given time it'll reduce it to little more than putty." He laughed darkly again, still seemingly inching closer. "Couldn't have the roof collapsing yet. Not before I managed my escape anyway."

From off to his left, back across the garage and still within the darkest part of the still billowing smoke Harvey could begin to hear someone speaking loudly. Definitely another officer and definitely speaking into a radio judging by the squelch at the end of the man's sentence. He glanced down where the patrolman's body now sat slumped over. Might even be this poor guy's partner.

"Don't think I'd particularly mind having a roof fall on your head," Harvey returned. "In fact, I think it'd be downright therapeutic for yours truly."

Nigma just laughed at that.

Again from the Lieutenant's left he could hear a voice, this time calling someone's name. He angled his head back towards the direction his target was speaking from, taking care to carefully watch what limited view he had in case Nigma was trying to flank him. The other cop sounded closer too.

"Still think you're going to get away, huh? Pretty damned delusional if you ask me."

"Perhaps," Nigma allowed. Definitely closer still. "But, it's not a question of belief. It's a question of preparation. My good man, I'll always be at least two steps ahead of you. Ahead of you and anyone else that tries to stop me. I'm afraid to say it's just not a level playing field."

Another round struck the pavement by Harvey's ankle, surprising him. He jerked his leg back in response, trying to hug it as closely to himself as he could. Wouldn't be too long until the tire was no longer the cover it had been given the steadily changing angle from which the gunfire was coming. Nigma was quickly working himself around, angling his position to be able to shoot around the meager cover he had.

No time like the present to make a scene then.

He reached under the car with Dietrich's gun and just started pulling the trigger, letting fly six rounds rapidly in the general vicinity he was guessing the madmen was located in. The whole point wasn't to try and hit the criminal, it was to try and give him pause. It was to let the man know he wasn't without some teeth. More than anything though it was to benefit from the fact that his sidearm didn't have a silencer. Indeed, almost instantly following the echoing reports he heard yelling from within the smokescreen. Someone was calling for backup.

Well, he'd either just finally added some reinforcements to his side or he'd provided more cannon fodder for the Riddler's bullets. Swell.

Nigma seemed to think a bit less of the tactic as two more rounds slammed into the car across from Bullock, cleanly clearing the tire but still thankfully missing the large framed detective.

Grunting with the exertion Harvey darted for the rear tire, hoping to cut off the angle a bit more to buy himself some more time and giving Nigma a more difficult shot. He also squeezed off another two rounds of his own blindly over the top of the trunk, chancing a look immediately after the second in the hopes that Nigma would have sought shelter.

His greeting was two rounds zipping by his right ear that sent him scrambling back for cover. Damned if the little shit wasn't a quick aim. Accurate too. But, unlike before, this time he'd managed a good look at his surroundings.

The Riddler was stationed behind a thick concrete column four cars down the same aisle as his. The barrel of his suppressed submachine gun, left eye, and left ear with the little wire from his earpiece about all that could be seen. His cover, unfortunately, was much more complete than the Lieutenant's. Not to mention that by being able to stay standing he had a height advantage over Bullock, effectively firing slightly down on him. If there was good news it was that Nigma would be left open if the approaching help was coming from the direction Harvey thought it was. They'd be able to see an unshielded target and the Riddler would know that. It might give Bullock an opportunity. It might also mean a waiting ambush for whomever was coming.

Another bullet pounded into the trunk above him.

He was probably trying to keep the Lieutenants head down now, buying himself time and space to maneuver. Hell, it was what Bullock would do if the roles were reversed. It was a military tactic. Unfortunately, if successful, it would also keep the Lieutenant guessing and put others in harms way.

Again, a bullet slammed into the sedan.

Christ, unless he did _something _Harvey was just gonna get this poor fucker coming to investigate his shots killed. Nigma didn't exactly seem the type to run away from a fight unless the odds were truly against him and walking a clueless uniformed unit into the mix didn't exactly qualify as the cavalry.

Another zip and a bullet went racing past again, kicking up concrete dust where it struck the wall. Harvey frowned. Nigma hadn't even hit the car that time. In fact, this time it hadn't seemed anywhere close to him at all. If not for the displaced air from the projectile itself he'd have never even known it was there.

The whizzing became slightly more pronounced and frequent, coming in two or three round bursts. Definitely trying to keep his head down.

Bullock chanced another look over the trunk. The column was deserted. When no shots came immediately flying in he let himself stay still, his eyes roving over the maze of parked cars and vans and gathered shadows. One of two things were happening at the moment. Either Nigma was trying to slink away under the cover of a few carefully placed bullets or he'd managed to hear Bullock's would be rescuer and was off to intercept. And he hadn't exactly seemed ready to retreat a few seconds ago.

Shit.

As quietly as possible the Lieutenant made his own way into the haze back towards the solitary voice, darting from cover to cover as fast as his lumbering, injured frame would allow him. Hopefully he'd be fast enough that he wouldn't just be heading to meet another dead body.

Crouching down, he checked beneath a white crime scene van for any sign of either man before ducking behind yet another of the giant round columns. So, this was semi-ridiculous. The underground garage was _huge_ and he had very little to go on for the location of either Nigma or the new addition. How in the hell was he...

"Marcus?"

Harvey froze and eased back around the column. Son of a bitch.

The officer was a beat cop judging by the uniform, the badge on his left breast gleaming faintly in the diffused light as he eased forward down one side of the drive aisle opposite the Lieutenant. Of average build and height with nondescript features and close cropped light brown hair, the man was almost absurdly normal looking. Plainly cautious from the earlier weapons fire he had his own firearm out, but thus far was content to have it hanging from his hand unassumingly at his side.

"Marcus, you down here?" he called again into the swirling haze. Bullock grit his teeth to keep from calling the man something insulting. Seriously? Yelling? How was announcing your presence and location to any bad guy within hearing range _ever _a good thing? He had _heard _the gunshots, right? At this point the Lieutenant was just giving the guy credit for even having his weapon drawn. "Seriously, dude," the officer tried again. "Come on. Where are you?"

Slowly pushing forward through the grayish air, but backlit by the big sodium lights on the ceilings he wasn't exactly gonna be hard to miss. Not at the rate he was going and not based on who was hunting him. The Lieutenant broke his eyes away from the black uniform to run them over the endless rows of cars. So, where the hell was Nigma?

Bullock crept along once the other cop had pulled away a little, hugging the nearest cars to reveal as little of himself as possible to incoming fire. The patrolman _was _being cautious at least, moving slowly and deliberately from one row to the next and scanning for threats. Even with that though he was still staying far too exposed for someone of the Riddler's caliber. So, why hadn't the man eaten a bullet already?

Freezing in place, the big detective stared hard into the creeping shadows.

Bait. Nigma was waiting to see if Harvey would screw up enough trying to save this poor schmuck's life that he could rid himself of two nuisances at once. He _knew _Bullock wouldn't just casually write off a fellow cop. Not with his military background and ethos.

Dammit.

Sliding forward, he edged around the hood of another squad car, squeezing himself between the wall and the bumper carefully. Rather than try and spring the trap, Bullock needed to rewrite the situation entirely. He needed to dictate things. At least to a degree. Make events react in a way his enemy hadn't predicted so maybe _he'd _be the one to screw up. At the very least he needed to make his colleague a bit more wary. Carefully, steadying himself and bracing his forearms on the metal hood, Harvey took a deep breath.

The shot passed a good two feet over the other man's head, the sound exploding in the stillness and sending the patrolman scurrying behind a nearby sedan and out of sight. Harvey ducked back down immediately as well as two silenced rounds passed cleanly through the space just occupied by his own face. Almost immediately he began moving again, sucking in hissing breaths between his teeth as he circled back to get a better view of his would-be rescuer.

His adversary would no doubt be moving as well, jockeying for a better position in much the same way. It was a very sick kind of race with pretty damn dire results for the loser.

It took Harvey all of thirty seconds to find the other officer. Unlike the two other men, he'd stayed where he was. Probably content to wait for help to arrive when he _should _be making himself a harder to predict target. At least he was properly using concealment and attempting to look under the car in the general direction from where Bullock's shots had originated. Not completely useless then.

The uniformed man was pressed up against a canine unit's car, keeping most of his body against the forward section and tire where the engine block and steel belted radials would severely hamper the path of anything incoming. Harvey steadied himself into a very similar position some six cars away and an aisle over to watch the approach from the other direction. Despite being unaware of his help, between the two of them they should be able to sit tight and cover most of the possible angles. Of course that was assuming the patrolman was worth his salt and didn't do anything stupid.

It was also assuming Nigma wasn't even better at this game of cat and mouse than the Lieutenant already feared. Hopefully a special tactics team or something showed up quickly so that it was all just academic.

When another two minutes elapsed with nothing happening Harvey began wondering once again about the response time and competency of his own department. Sitting still like this would only be effective for so long and...

There was a fleeting glimpse of movement far off to the right, back by a couple of the bulky armored vehicles special tactics sometimes used. The blocky trucks were far enough away that it was all still sharp angles and murky, faded silhouettes through the smoke though. Nothing definitive. It could just as easily have even been a trick of the mind.

One thing it _did _demonstrate though was that the smokescreen was getting thinner. Seeing anything that far away would have been unthinkable a few minutes earlier. What once had been poor visibility out to only a few dozen feet unless stooped over low was now slowly creeping out to a good twenty yards or more. It was still hazy and colors somewhat monotone, but at least it _was _going in the right direction.

Finally...a break.

_If_ there was a finite limit to Nigma's smokescreen then maybe its imminent end would finally mean some good news for them. The asshole wouldn't want to leave a trail and having two breathing cops around, one of whom knew _exactly _what was happening, could spell bad news for his safe getaway. He wanted them dead. Bullock at the very least. Was it enough to do something rash or stupid though?

The Lieutenant never got to find out. So concentrated was he on the far side of the garage where the larger vehicles were parked, he almost missed the shifting weight of the uniformed officer in his periphery. When the man's head bobbed up to glance over the hood rather than under it, Bullock finally chanced a look back.

"Please," he muttered under his breath, trying to hold focus on both men's positions at the same time. "Please. Just keep your damn fool head down. Sit back down and wait for help and we'll..."

Unfortunately, nothing of the sort seemed to be in the man's immediate plans. Apparently tired of waiting and wondering, Bullock watched him hesitantly come back up to a crouch, squinting through the gloom over the car's hood. Several seconds later he slowly rose fully, inching out around the bumper into the drive aisle and roughly in the direction of Harvey's old position. He was practically asking to take a nine millimeter to the frontal lobe unless the Lieutenant did something. Nigma might not have a whole lot more patience for this poor schmuck.

Staying low, the detective followed as discretely as possible, skirting the low parapet wall to the right and getting behind him in the gloom. With a deep breath, he darted across one particular gap between cars, coming to rest roughly where the patrolman had just been taking up station a minute earlier.

As soon as his shoulder met the sedan's metal panel his eyes were searching back in the direction of the armored cars, hoping for any kind of glimpse that could tip him off. A faint red beam of laser, barely visible in the diminishing haze was plenty. Even then it was hard to pinpoint an exact point of origin, but the faintest reflection in a rearview mirror gave him his first real glimpse of the scrawny man in the last five minutes. Fortunately or unfortunately his attention wasn't on the Lieutenant. Bullock swore, swung up and fired twice. He wasn't hoping for much, but startling him a bit would certainly be nice. Then he was running as hard as he could in the other direction.

He smashed into the patrolman hard while the man was still spinning back in the direction of the gunshots, sending them both skidding out of control along the ground, but thankfully carrying them both behind the welcome protection of a nearby vehicle. Whether the Riddler managed to fire on them or not was unknown. In all the ruckus it was pretty hard to tell. Harvey was back up immediately though, sending another three rounds in Nigma's direction over the top of the trunk. When he saw his shots smash into the van's armored door inches from his quarry's head he allowed himself a tight smile. Nigma scampered awkwardly out of the way, providing only sporadic glimpses of his diminutive frame before he went sprinting down another row of cars, disappearing entirely.

Unfortunately, Bullock's unplanned maneuver also managed to send the other officer barreling straight into his dead colleague's body, leaving the patrolman sprawled across the corpse in a heap.

"_Jesus!_"

The Lieutenant didn't turn, keeping his eyes and weapon waiting for any more signs of Nigma. In his periphery though he saw things go south for him at an astonishing speed. Eyes widening, the officer seemed to tumble away from the corpse, pushing his way backward until his back struck metal. Immediately, the man's weapon snapped back up as he leapt to his feet, his two hands cradling it out in front of him as it was trained on the Lieutenant.

"Alright, slowly place your weapon on the ground and back away."

"Oh for...you gotta be fucking kidding me," Bullock muttered, eying him quickly before turning back to watch for any sign of the Riddler. "With my luck why am I still surprised?"

To be fair he _did _look quite the mess. His white button up shirt was untucked and wrinkled from the night's exertions with sweat stains along his neck and under his arms. At some point he'd also managed to get a fair amount of dust and grime along the sleeves and the hem, further adding to his appearance. Add in the disheveled hair, the bullet wound in his side, and the thin droplets of blood that the debris from one of Nigma's shots must have done and he didn't exactly look like a police Lieutenant at the moment.

All that _and _he also had a gun in his hand and was standing over a dead cop. Crap.

"Did you not notice the part where I just saved your life?" he tried. Maybe the guy could see some reason to it all. He _had _to get that those bullets weren't meant for him, right? They'd been aimed away from him back across the garage. Then again, was he even aware that there'd been another shooter? The other weapon involved in the brief firefight _had _been silenced.

Again. Crap.

"Mister, I'm _so _not kidding," was all the response he received. "Put the gun down and put your hands behind your head. _Now. _I'm _not _playing around here and I'm not asking again."

From somewhere in the distance the sound of groaning metal on metal could be heard screeching through the smoke. _Had _to be Nigma, but what the hell kinda racket was that? Steel grating? Manhole? Didn't matter at the moment. For now he was using the young officer's naivete against the Lieutenant and trying to get away scot-free.

Harvey wanted to smack the kid. Seriously? After all he'd gone through _this _was what was going to end his night. At the last second he managed to remember he still had a loaded semi-automatic in his hand. In his frustration, doing something rash with that in tow would be grossly inadvisable.

"Son," he said instead through gritted teeth, being careful not to move too suddenly and keeping most of his attention on their environment and the general direction he'd heard the squeal. "Believe it or not, but I'm on your side. I'm a cop. Honest."

Not even a blink. "Yeah?" he said. "Way I hear it, so's the guy we're trying to nab. Till I can get confirmation that you're on the up and up you might as well be him. Now _drop _the gun."

That finally got Harvey to turn a bit and afford him more attention. Nigma be damned. "Oh for...I'm the damned head of Major Crimes." At the officer's dubious look Bullock nodded. "Seriously. Lieutenant Harvey Bullock. Badge number eight one seven. I'm in pursuit of the piece of shit responsible for this mess and right now _you're _not helping matters. Asshole's gonna get away and..." When the man looked no less certain of his position, Harvey gestured towards the radio handset clipped to his shoulder with his free hand. "How bout this? Go ahead and call it in. Use my name and description. See what happens."

It took a second of hesitation, but the uniformed cop eventually shook his head, his eyes and sidearm never wavering. "Mister, I'm sorry, but even if I _did _believe you we've got a dead officer here. If you are who you say you are and had nothing to do with it though then I'm sure everything will be fine. Either way we need to have you come in to answer a few questions and submit to..."

He was gonna kill him. Really, he was. The law and his oath be damned. Silently fuming, Bullock forced himself to again keep his hands firmly affixed at his sides. "Yeah, I _know _the regulations, kid. I can quote em right back at ya. They also say you're supposed to listen to your superior officers."

Again nothing. No effect. If nothing else the younger man was growing more angry and agitated by the second. The Lieutenant also really didn't care too much about that.

"Sir, this isn't up for debate. Now, I'm done discussing this. Put your weapon on the ground immediately and we'll see what my superiors have to say about all this."

"Junior, I _am _your fuckin' superior."

That was probably the wrong thing to say judging by the officer's stiffening posture. _Dammit_. He knew he was pushing his luck, but it probably wasn't in Harvey's best interests to antagonize the man pointing a loaded weapon at him. Bullock glanced back at the path Nigma had taken and grunted. If argument and coercion didn't work...

"Fine," he muttered darkly. "Have it your way." The Lieutenant took a small step forward and bent at the knees slowly, lowering himself and his own semi-automatic to the ground. The officer didn't so much as flinch. By the time he'd actually gone down to a knee, setting his handgun gently on the concrete he'd managed almost a full step without the officer seeming to catch on or back off. Standing back up afforded himself another discreet half step. Silently he turned around and reached back to put his hands behind his head, interlacing his beefy fingers against sweat matted hair. Almost arm's length. Judging by the lack of reaction by the other man he'd done it smoothly enough to simply look as though he were complying with instructions.

When the patrolman finally moved forward to handcuff him Bullock's elbow caught him off guard enough that he couldn't retreat backwards quickly enough, almost stumbling on his own feet in the process when the big man threw himself backward into the officer. Harvey made sure to intercept the hand with the firearm as it came back towards him, spinning and stepping in closer to wrench the wrist away. In the same motion he put all his mass and momentum into a big, looping right that landed squarely right on the younger man's jaw. Granted, it may have hurt like hell, but the lights went out in the cop's eyes immediately and he dropped like a stone. It wasn't graceful, but Bullock caught his weight as best he could, easing him down to the ground into a roughly seated position.

Youngster should have waited for backup before trying anything with a dangerous perp.

"Sorry kid," he whispered, checking for a pulse. Just in case. He _had _hit him pretty hard. He then proceeded to relieve the man of his radio and firearm, adding any extra ammunition he could find and the dropped handcuffs as well.

With a deep sigh of relief the Lieutenant _finally _held a radio up to his mouth, preparing to depress the transmit button when something struck him. Radios. Their radios. Nigma hadn't just been a step ahead of him this entire time. He'd been ahead of the entire GCPD. He'd avoided the lot of them in the halls of the headquarters building and beyond, sidestepping them and ambushing them in equal measure. How did he even know where Bullock and his men would show up in that hallway with the boobytrapped woman? It could have been hours before they'd arrived if he hadn't been so gung ho about things. Waiting for them like he did could have cost him his freedom. Why would he do that unless he was absolutely sure? Which begged the question, how was he doing it?

The Lieutenant held up the device and stared at it. Son of a bitch. The man _had _been impersonating a cop this entire time. They'd taken precautions, but he was pretty damned smart. How had they _not _seen that this was a possibility?

The earpiece. He'd seen it for a split second behind the column before he'd nearly been picked apart by the man's submachine gun. Nigma had been wearing an earpiece, it's thin, coiled plastic wire trailing out of his left ear and down under the collar of his shirt. Why would he do that? Who would he be communicating with now that Falcone and his goons had been run out of town?

The easy answer was that he wasn't communicating at all. He was fucking _listening._

Bullock glanced at the radio handset he was holding. That bastard was listening to _them_. Even with the alternate frequencies and other measures they'd taken he'd figured out a way to crack through and listen in. He was avoiding them and killing them in equal measure because they kept telling him exactly what he needed to know.

Motherfu...

So now what the hell was he supposed to do? If the man had entered the sewer or storm drain systems he could be outside the department's standard perimeter within about thirty minutes. That was pretty much the only thing that made sense. Nothing else he could think of to access down here.

He needed to get a message out to Gordon or Montoya. Someone he could trust. But, the radios were no good and going himself meant giving up the chase of Nigma. So, what then? Absently his eyes found the unconscious form at his feet.

He grunted to himself and painfully crouched down. Ah, what the hell.

* * *

><p><em>AN: No Batman, but some action. Trying to strike a careful balance between keeping Bullock and the GCPD capable while also making Nigma a badass. Hopefully that worked. Rest assured that the next chapter is going to be very, very eventful. And, with over 5k words already on the page...hopefully coming quickly. Hope you guys enjoyed the update. Finally!_


	49. Chapter 49

_Alright, a bit faster this time. Got a nice big chunk of Chapter 50 already written as well. Hopefully we're looking at another two week or less turnaround. Fingers crossed that I manage to find some free, peaceful time in there somewhere. _

_As always, feel free to leave a review. I'm always curious what you guys think and what questions you may have. They'll all get answered. I always enjoy interacting with you guys.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

* * *

><p>The sudden glare of nearly two dozen police spotlights switching on nearly simultaneously almost knocked Bullock over they were so bright, completely blinding him before he managed to shield his eyes with his hand and squeezing them shut. The sudden beating of helicopter blades and an even more powerful spotlight from above just added to the sudden chaos in the cramped little alley he'd found himself in.<p>

Nearby, standing over him in the narrow, trash strewn space, Nigma seemed far less stunned, holding up one hand to shield himself from the glare, but otherwise seeming remarkably unconcerned with his sudden predicament. The hand with the gun didn't even twitch from where it pointed squarely between his eyes.

The entrance his adversary had taken down into Gotham's storm drain system had proven easy enough to find. There were only so many nearly rusted steel gratings within the garage. He'd figured the one with the shiny new padlock was his best bet. A couple well placed bullets took care of that and probably helped attract more attention down to the two bodies Bullock had left behind. From there the head of Major Crimes had followed the Riddler for close to a hundred yards through a dark, half filled storm sewer, in places wading through shin deep filth before finally emerging from a manhole a mere thirty feet behind police lines and past the thin crowds of onlookers watching the spectacle unfold at the Civic Center. Barely fitting due to his impressive stature, the Lieutenant came up the ladder even more sore and miserable than before, huffing up the rungs one at a time as the sounds of sirens and helicopters materialized around him.

And of _course_ he was immediately ambushed again at the top, meeting fresh air alongside the imposing barrel of Nigma's silenced handgun despite his attempts to be at least somewhat stealthy. Apparently half stumbling your way through stagnant water and two week old trash was not an ideal way to remain undetected. The steady string of curses probably didn't help either.

The Riddler had looked less amused this time, waiting for the Lieutenant to clear the top of the opening and beginning to rise before clocking him with the butt of his weapon between the shoulder blades and commanding him to stay kneeling. Harvey's own weapon clattered away loudly on the uneven pavement as he sank to his knees, the detective tossing it away disgustedly.

"You're like some kind of little parasite," Nigma hissed, shaking his head bemused.

"Funny," Bullock gave back, rubbing the back of his neck before glaring back up at him, "I was gonna use the same word to describe you." He grunted. "But then again I got other, more colorful options too."

Nigma came around and crouched down across from the policeman, resting the pistol against the top of his thigh casually. But his finger never left the trigger. He also wasn't close enough for Harvey to reach him without needing to take a couple steps. Always cautious.

"So, Lieutenant, whatever am I to do with you now? Hmmm?"

Bullock glanced past him towards the distant mouth of the alley. There were several people there, all with their backs to the alley as they watched the unfolding drama at Police Plaza. Nothing but gawkers. Unfortunately, the mouth of it was also fairly well screened by a pair of rusty, faded green dumpsters and some steel scaffolding lining the side of one of the buildings. Despite their proximity to probably a couple hundred police officers, it was gonna take a bit to get their attention. He could do it, but just not in enough time to prevent his own murder and Nigma's escape.

Otherwise the alleyway was relatively unremarkable. Just a narrow crevice of a service way between a pair of older buildings that had seen better days. Their street facing sides may have been clean and updated to blend in with the times, but nobody cared about this side of things. And so the walls were bare, discolored brick and cracked plaster, graffiti marring those areas devoid of windows and doors and always the steady drip of dirty water from some unseen source.

Harvey turned his attention back on a bemused Riddler, screwing his features into a deadly serious scowl. "Well," he said without mirth, "surrender's always a good option." That garnered a laugh, the frail little man snorting to himself. "You think I'm kidding?"

"I think you haven't been paying attention."

"And I think you underestimate me. I'm not just some dumb cop."

Nigma straightened back up and regarded him silently for a moment, cocking his head thoughtfully as he considered the statement. Then he smiled thinly again, the skin at the corners of his eyes creasing with the expression. "Your record this evening _would_ seem to say otherwise." Before Harvey could spit a retort he dismissed the statement himself. "But, despite that, I _do _know you're more than you seem. In fact," he allowed, "you've actually made for a rather memorable night. It's almost a shame you've forced my hand, but..."

The Lieutenant forced a smile. "What? Afraid I'd actually beat you," he said, cutting the other man off. "Afraid what would happen if I we were actually on equal footing?"

Nigma's smile just widened. "Hardly. We'd never be on equal footing." He tapped his chin, thinking aloud. "Though I'd have truly enjoyed another go at our little game sometime down the road. With that said," the semi-automatic rose to point directly at Bullock's forehead, "some things simply can't be helped. And I've never been known to be especially sentimental."

The sounds of screeching tires preceded the arrival of a small fleet of squad cars, their lights flashing blue and red across bare brick as they slammed to a halt, sending the group of bystanders scrambling out of the way. From what he could hear there were so many that most had to be out of sight, unable to fit within view at either end of the alley. The spotlights came a second later bathing the shadowy urban canyon in brilliant white light just as the helicopter appeared overhead, its blades thumping the air. The sounds of doors slamming and boots slapping against damp pavement finally heralded the ultimate arrival of Gotham's finest.

_Finally._

Nigma took it all remarkably in stride really, keeping the gun pressed firmly against Harvey's head as he watched the commotion interestedly. He was so seemingly unconcerned that he never even bothered to remove one hand from his pants' pocket.

The Commissioner was the first person Bullock was able to make out past the wall of lights, the man stepping forward in his synonymous overcoat so that they backlit him, casting a long shadow down the alley. Another, smaller silhouette came to join him, her sidearm out, but at her side.

Montoya.

To either side two more groups appeared out of glare, their bearing, precision, and distinctive way of moving identifying them immediately as teams of tactical commandos.

Harvey angled his head to look up at his captor, ignoring the way the end of the silencer brushed ominously against his hair. "Think that's checkmate, pal."

The Riddler glanced down, shrugged and slowly lowered his weapon until it was facing the ground.

From there things took yet another strange turn when the Riddler pushed the Lieutenant forward without question when Gordon stepped up and demanded his release. Rather than join his colleagues at either end of the alley though Harvey stumbled over and retrieved his discarded pistol, making sure a round was chambered before stepping back up to the much smaller man and leaning in.

"Got anything smug to say now, prick?"

The wretched little man actually winked at him and smiled, standing defiantly despite the much larger man looming over him. "Just...wait for it," was all he said. "This particular game hasn't reached its finale yet. Do you _really _think I didn't prepare for an eventuality such as this?"

Bullock scoffed at him. Really? He made a plan for being surrounded by a few dozen well armed, pissed off men with no means of escape? Right.

But Nigma just shrugged and continued quietly smiling to himself, glancing past Bullock's shoulder as the Commissioner slowly approached flanked by one of the tactical teams, Montoya, and a small grouping of other officers following close behind.

Never one to give up, the big Lieutenant leaned in even closer until the end of his nose was almost scraping against the two day old scruff on the other man's cheek. "All's I see is some nutjob that can't admit when he's done," he muttered darkly. "You know what? Fine. Keep telling yourself that when they're teaching you a _real _different game in lock-up." He straightened up, shifting his weight a bit to try and take a little pressure off his ribs. "Guess you ain't as smart as you thought, huh, Einstein?"

The smaller man actually rolled his eyes at that, but didn't look at him. "Your attempts to get a rise out of me don't suit you," he said. "Shouldn't you be reading me my rights or doing something...I don't know...intelligent? I'd hate to have to reconsider my preconceptions of you."

It was all Bullock could do from punching him. He was positive putting his fist through the man's crooked smile would almost be worth the suspension and probable demotion. Rather than risk a police brutality charge and provide fodder for some asshole defense lawyer he was rather proud of himself when he managed to step away instead, keeping a careful eye on the still armed criminal as the commandos began carefully spreading out around him. His partner was the first to arrive at his side, sidling up without acknowledging him.

"Got your note," Montoya said, studying Nigma. "Sorry we didn't get here sooner, but there was about a dozen manholes on this particular line to cover." After a brief pause she glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye studying the Lieutenant. "Nice to see you're all in one piece though." Then she looked him up and down a little more fully and arched an eyebrow. "More or less. We were worried."

Nigma ignored a shouted command from the tac team leader to relinquish his weapons, smiling and never breaking eye contact with the Lieutenant. Instead, he flicked the safety of his pistol on and off repeatedly at his side raising the tension buzzing through the police officers another notch.

Harvey just grunted in response to his partner, never looking down at her or breaking the stare with the Riddler. Thank god for that note being found though. He'd hoped whoever discovered it would be smart enough _not _to announce it over the comms. It _had _said not to, but there were some pretty dense individuals on the force. Apparently that little gamble paid off though cause despite the way he'd reacted, the Lieutenant was sure Nigma had never seen it coming. "Not like you to be so theatrical though," Montoya said at his side, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, pinning it to Flynn's chest like that. Real subtle."

"Who?" Bullock was barely even listening. Nigma was still watching him and ignoring any commands directed at him by the tactical team.

At his side Montoya rolled her eyes. "The patrolman you happened to knock out," she answered bluntly. "Remember him?"

Harvey merely grunted disinterestedly. "How's the kid doing anyway? Didn't want to cold cock him like that, but he didn't leave me much choice."

"Yeah, I'm sure you _really _tried to diffuse the situation before you went off punching a fellow cop." She smiled knowingly up at him. Harvey just clenched his jaw and refused to meet her eyes. After the night he'd had humor wasn't really near the surface. Even his own signature brand of sarcasm had it's limits. The female detective shrugged and went back to watching Nigma as he again ignored the shouts coming from the black clad commandos, this time, turning around slowly as though to gauge their positions. "He'll have a headache, but it'll be fine. You...ah, might want to apologize to him though later?"

That got his attention. He finally turned to look at the woman. "Apologize? What for? Said I didn't want to do it. Not that I was sorry for it."

She smiled a little again. "Stubborn ass," she muttered. "By the way, you smell like shit."

When the Riddler again ignored an order directed at him from one of the tactical officers Bullock had finally had enough of the man's games, preparing to reinsert himself into the situation. This wasn't right. Nigma couldn't have expected them to be here waiting for him like this. So, why was he so damn smug? Past the man's usual insufferable personality though it didn't add up. The man was facing life behind bars at the minimum, right? So, why wasn't there even a shred of nervousness?

Several paces to his left the Commissioner beat Bullock to it though, finally stepping forward from where he'd been discussing something with one of the watch commanders. Tiredly he gestured to the villain. "Nigma, just them down and follow their directions. You've got nowhere left to go and frankly they don't care if you're breathing at the end of this."

"And who says I need to go anywhere?" Nigma fired back, finally turning to face away from Bullock. Gordon frowned frustratedly and thrust his hands back into his coat's pockets. "Actually," Nigma continued, smirking in a way that had the Lieutenant wanting to hurt him all over again, "I think now that the gang's all here, we can finally begin negotiating the terms of my release."

"Your release?" The Commissioner raised an eyebrow, but maintained his composure, his hands still stuffed casually away at his sides. "No, I think we'll just skip that part of things for now and move right on to the part where we arrest you. You can discuss the rest with the D.A. Now. Put your weapons down or the Lieutenant here gets to make you do it his way."

The Riddler glanced over at Bullock and pursed his lips as though he was studying him before turning his attention back to Gordon and smiling. Eventually he just shrugged easily. "But of course, Commissioner. As a sign of good faith. They no longer serve a purpose anyway." Slowly he knelt, maintaining eye contact with the Commissioner the entire time. No sooner had the weapons, first the handgun and then the submachine gun, touched the ground though than he was straightening up before any of them could react, producing a small, familiar looking object from one of his pockets.

"This, however, still _does _have its uses. Now, about my release..."

Gordon stood his ground, never wavering. Bullock stepped forward though, his anger and frustration getting the better of him. "Got your damn attorney on speed dial? This your master plan?"

Nigma laughed at that, his cackle filling the alley. "Really?" he asked. "After all this? You think that's the best I could do? No, no. I think we can leave the judiciary out of this one. No, this is something else. Something better. Or at least I think so. You, however, may not find it quite so...entertaining."

The Commissioner withdrew one of his hands from his pockets to rub his forehead, closing his eyes in frustration. "It's late and I'm tired of the games. Nigma, explain the phone before I just have someone put a hole in you for resisting arrest."

"Ah. Well, _this_ phone," he said looking down at the small silver device in his hand, "could be considered a...safety net of sorts." He waved it around a little to make sure everyone saw it. "Or rather it's a trigger. A trigger linked to something large enough to turn your rather imposing building back there into an equally impressive crater. To put it bluntly it activates a bomb. One that's been hidden within the building's lower levels." Weapons snapped back up to attention at the word, poised and ready to fire at the Riddler. He merely ignored them and went on. "Not subtle or particularly elegant I'll grant you, but one sizable enough to bring the entire thing down upon itself should you decide to challenge me. If I remove my thumb from this button," he held up everything to demonstrate, "then you get to explain to the mayor and the people of Gotham why you chose to sacrifice hundreds all for little ole me."

Gordon immediately glanced at one of the senior chiefs who went off running back down the alley to find whatever remnants of the bomb squad were still nearby.

Nigma just smiled at the gesture and the Commissioner. "Oh, do go right ahead. Look, look, look to your little heart's content. You may even defy my expectations and actually find it for all the good it'll do you. You see, I can guarantee that you won't be able to disarm it." He looked back at the Lieutenant before raising the cellphone and smiling smugly. "Well, not in time anyway."

Gordon didn't budge. "Assuming I believe you, what guarantees do I have that you won't set it off even _if_ we follow your instructions?"

Nigma laughed at that. "Why, none whatsoever. You're simply purchasing yourselves a few more precious minutes. Now, you might stall me enough to buy the time to rescue a few more people, but rest assured that the building _will _come down well before you're able to empty it entirely."

"Unless we let you go."

"Unless you let me go, yes." The scrawny man turned toward the Lieutenant. "So, I'd suggest staying out of my way if you hope to avoid a great deal more bloodshed."

"Ain't nothing but another fake," Bullock growled, cradling his injured side gingerly. "Commissioner, he's already done this to us _twice_. No way we can afford to bite on this. Not again. What if this is just another bluff and it means letting him get away."

Gordon heard him, but didn't turn to face Harvey, silently regarding Nigma instead.

The Riddler just smiled wider. "Ah, Lieutenant," he crowed, "ever the voice of reason and painfully brutal logic. Unfortunately, as usual, you're not asking yourself the right questions."

"_Fuck _you, freak," Bullock spat. "Wasn't talking to you."

Gordon didn't budge, watching the murderer intently. "And what exactly _would_ be the correct question?"

"Well, for starters...can you even afford to take the chance it's _not_ a bluff?" Nigma bowed his head slightly, careful to cup the cellphone gently as he lit a cigarette so his thumb would remain securely in place before blowing out a puff of smoke when his head bobbed back up. "So, tell me...in all this craziness, in all this time when you were so focused on chasing after me, did you happen to, oh...I don't know...evacuate the buildings? Or did you simply have everyone lock their doors up tight awaiting the cavalry?"

Gordon glanced at Bullock at that, eventually drawing the man's eyes before they both glanced at the hulking building barely visible at the end of the alley.

Harvey had given the order himself and Gordon had heard it over the radio. Nigma apparently too. Hell, those that hadn't stayed in their offices had been herded and secured in the lobby during the manhunt. Montoya had seen to that and Gordon had agreed with it at the time. That left at least a couple hundred cops and civilian workers still within the facility.

Their reaction was apparently telling enough to provide Nigma with all the answer he needed. "That's what I gathered," he allowed, smiling again before taking another drag from his cigarette. "Thanks for the hostages incidentally. Couldn't have done it without you."

"Let them go," Gordon said evenly, returning his gaze to the murderer.

Nigma didn't even blink. "Let _me _go and maybe I will. Your call, but I would recommend haste in making it. Lots of lives _are _on the line after all."

Everyone just stood there in silence watching each other, Gordon looking beaten down, huddled deeply within his long coat as he considered his options. There weren't many. Even the Lieutenant had to admit that things were good and truly screwed. So, it came as no surprise to him when, with a heavy sigh, the Commissioner begrudgingly nodded, holding up his hands to motion for the other officers to lower their weapons. Slowly they complied with Bullock the last to drop his to his side in silent frustration.

Nigma practically glowed, his smile widening until it spread across his angular features. "Excellent, excellent." He clapped suddenly, cackling delightedly to himself. "Well, gentlemen, it's been quite an amusing evening. One I'll always cherish. _But_, due to an overriding sense of self preservation I will sadly be forced to depart." He motioned for them to separate, clearing a lane for him out to the street in the opposite direction of Police Plaza towards Second Street. Slowly, the members of the tactical team along that side moved to comply, leaving almost ten feet between them for him to pass.

"Now," he said, turning to face the Commissioner and Bullock as he backed away from them slowly, "let's have you all be good public servants and stay right where you are. We don't want me getting unnecessarily trigger happy, now do we?" He smiled widely and waved the phone once more at them. "And don't bother attempting to follow me because...well..." He waved the cellphone even more exaggeratedly. "Trust me when I say I'm prepared for anything you can come up with. You're not..."

A slight thud drew all eyes to Nigma's feet where a small item had clattered noisily to the wet pavement. It wasn't particularly big, just a small, dark gray box with several small bundles of wires and a couple stubby antennas protruding out the back of it.

The Lieutenant didn't have a clue what the thing could be, but judging by the way Nigma's eyebrows went up into his hairline he obviously did. Seconds after the unknown piece of technology hit the ground all eyes in the alley went up, tracing the object's fall back up along the building's face where it disappeared into inky shadows cast by the spotlights until it met the slightly lighter color of the night sky. There was nothing there.

It didn't take a genius though to realize who this was probably from. The Lieutenant looked back down at the little bundle before glancing finally back at the Riddler. Also didn't take a genius to figure out what it probably meant.

Nigma, far from being horrified by the turn of events actually smiled appreciatively. "Well played, sir," he said softly into the silence. Then the cellphone slipped from his fingers, falling to the worn pavement.

Behind the group, out past the mouth of the alley nothing at all happened.

* * *

><p>Pressing himself against the aged brick, Bruce kept himself wrapped in the darkest shadows four floors above the alley's floor. With the bright lights below affecting everyone's night vision and the added cover and cast shadows of the fire escape landing both above and below him it would take a miracle for someone to pick him out of all the darkness.<p>

Even from here though he could see his little stunt had had the desired effect. Although not the dramatic, flashy end most may have expected given the rest of the evening things were wrapping up quietly and with a satisfying sense of finality.

Nigma was looking up into the night, his eyes searching the dark places and crevices for the Batman as his hands were fastened securely behind his back. This time the police weren't taking any chances though, attaching both plastic zip ties and the more traditional metal restraints to his wrists. His ankles were likewise restrained before he was eased into a seated position on some discarded crates. Montoya read him his rights quietly as Bullock received some cursory medical attention, sitting tiredly atop a concrete stoop that led into the backdoor of a small dry cleaners. The Commissioner stood off to the side, watching everything with his own deep seated weariness while also finally beginning the coordination for the evacuation of the building and subsequent search for the bomb. Bruce had had Alfred email Gordon directly through a series of heavily encrypted servers, providing a detailed location of the explosive device. Moments after Nigma's capture he'd checked his phone and immediately begun relating directions to subordinates. Nobody ever asked him where he got his intel. With any luck it might even be removed before the sun came up.

Nigma himself had already promised information to Gordon's boys about Falcone's operation. Likely it was done with self preservation in mind, the man desperately grasping at any straw to keep some sort of leverage or ace up his sleeve. Whether the Commissioner decided to deal or not was a loaded question. Bruce would be willing to bet the assassin had plenty to incriminate Alberto, possibly even enough to dismantle the man's empire permanently. Keeping a lifeline like that for just such a situation as this was well within his personality. But, to the GCPD he was a cop killer. He doubted they'd be willing to take a plea bargain. Not now.

Still, why did Nigma look so full of himself then? He sat, smirking, as he gazed up into the night, making flirtatious smalltalk with an obviously disgusted Montoya. This was _not _the demeanor of cornered prey.

Bruce settled back further, studying the man and silently exploring what he could infer from that.

If not for the heavy presence of other police officers below, both the tactical units and uniformed men, he'd probably have dropped in alongside the wireless router and signal module he'd pulled off Nigma's bomb to make a more...dramatic statement. He _was _still considered a criminal though despite his interactions and under-the-table acceptance by Gordon, the MCU, and the DA. All it would take was one of those cops down there to react poorly and suddenly the game would be up. He didn't want to put either Gordon or himself in the position of having to make a hard decision either. Not when it could be avoided for now.

While the crowd of law enforcement had thinned out a bit since the hastily put together ambush with many of the police cruisers and their spotlights having since been removed, it still wasn't a good idea for him to make any kind of appearance. If he was going to get a chance to question Nigma personally about current events or Falcone it would have to come some other way and at some other time.

Till then he could only wait and watch. The evening's danger at least was finally dissipating away into nothingness. And it was one more dangerous individual of the streets.

Hopefully.

It had been quite some time since either Alfred or Selina had said anything past a comment or two during the exhaustive deactivation of Nigma's explosive device. In the last hour they'd been all but silent, working on their own end to try and track Lieutenant Bullock and reroute the damaged security cameras within Police Plaza. The prolonged silence made Selina's sudden, alarmed voice in his ear almost make him jump.

"Oh, _shit_."

Before he could even think to respond, Alfred's usually proper, refined voice come over the radio sounding far more subdued and tense than usual. "Sir," said the butler, his voice deadly serious, "I'm afraid you have an uninvited guest."

The lack of a continued police presence at the end of the alley opening up on Second Street, opposite the Civic Center, was probably how he was able to gain access so easily, strolling down the narrow driveway unmolested. They'd find out later he murdered three uniformed officers in the space of ten seconds to get that far.

Bruce, given his perch high above the gathering saw him first, the figure walking along easily with his familiar, stiff gait and shoulders slumped forward. The Commissioner noticed soon thereafter, staring past one of his senior chiefs as the man continued updating him completely unawares. Bullock was next, pushing the medic attending to him out of the way roughly, his hand already reaching for a sidearm that wasn't there, his weapon collected as evidence earlier by investigators. One by one they took notice of their newest arrival, the bustling scene gradually becoming almost deathly silent.

Bruce moved before anyone, finding himself crouching on the fire escape's rusty, weathered railing before he even realized he'd moved, the lone, tiny creak of the straining metal going unnoticed below despite the hush that had fallen over everything.

What the _hell _was _he _there for? Why now? Why alone in an alleyway full of cops.

Gordon's sidearm came out of its holster smoothly as the Joker emerged into what was left of the light bathing the scene, his matted hair appearing all the more vividly green in the harsh brightness while the white make-up made him seem almost ghostly.

Silently he watched the gathered crowd stare back at him, his lips pursed as several more officers drew their sidearms as well. Then he licked his lips and slowly raised his hands in surrender.

"Oh...ah...hope I'm not interrupting anything, you know...important," he said.

The voice and cadence were unmistakable, his sentences elongated and stressed in familiar, albeit strange locations to disrupt any notion of a normal tone of speech. Every remaining weapon in the alley not already directed at him snapped up immediately as the collection of officers came out of their shocked stupor. The Joker looked on unfazed, cocking his head to the left and peering at them all sideways as he again licked the corners of his mouth.

"Oh. No, no. No, I...ah...wouldn't do that," he warned.

He _wouldn't _be here for no reason. He also wouldn't walk into this without a way out. The bombing at the MCU last time illustrated exactly that. No. Despite what he might claim, the Joker _always _had a plan. They were just damn hard to see coming. So, Bruce grit his teeth and stayed in the shadows, biding his time. He wanted to be down there. Wanted to confront Ramirez's murderer himself. But for now he was still hidden. For now, he was still a wild card and _he_ still had surprise on his side. That may be all they had once the clown revealed what he had in mind.

The safety on Gordon's revolver clicked off. "You'll have to excuse me if I don't..."

Bruce saw it before anyone else did. One of the masked, black clad commandos toward the rear of the group of officers shifted, moving quietly over a step behind the Commissioner where he pivoted and leveled his assault rifle at the back of the man's head. Gordon froze instantly at the feel of the muzzle against his scalp. Eyes glanced over when he was cut off, taking in the newest variable and looking on stunned. Several of the nearby guns whipped around finally, being trained on the anonymous officer as further confusion set in.

"There." The Joker heaved an exasperated breath and dropped his arms back down to his sides. "Isn't that better? No reason we can't all be...cordial." He slid forward again, passing closely by Bullock on his way to Gordon and the seated Nigma. "So, quite the night you're all having," he commented, speaking conversationally and stopping before the Commissioner, heedless of those firearms still trained on him. He rubbed his hands together excitedly. "I was watching. Couldn't resist coming down to say...ah..._hi_." He smiled at Gordon, cocking his head curiously to the side. "So, miss me, Commissioner? All that...boring time with me locked away. Cause I sure _missed _you." The older man just glared at him, causing the Joker to shrug and pivot to his right.

"What the hell do..."

The criminal just dismissed the Commissioner, talking over him and ignoring the man entirely as he approached another. "And _this_ must be the...infamous _Riddler._" The Joker practically bubbled over when he said the man's nickname, flaring his eyes for good measure.

For once, the handcuffed Nigma looked less than smug, fear plainly evident across his face as he looked up at the psychopath, glancing left and right at the collection of cops for any kind of help. Though they had their guns trained mostly on the Joker, none were moving to intervene.

"I'm a...fan. Really. The way you...ah...laughed in all their faces." He waved to indicate the others in the alley before clicking his tongue happily and pulling up abruptly studying the man for a second. Suddenly he sighed dramatically, kind of shaking his head. "Not..._really_ what I was expecting though." He turned to Bullock. "But they never really are, are they?" When the Lieutenant just growled at him the Joker laughed lightly, stepping back towards Nigma. "Still, I've _got _to hand it to you...you make for some entertaining..."

"What do you want Joker?"

Gordon's voice cut through the villain's small talk, bringing his head back around to the frowning, mustached man.

"Can't I just want to see some...friendly faces?" He chuckled darkly to himself, but turned back to Nigma. "Your little bomb," he started. "Little...ah...complicated for my tastes, but to each their own. Guess I'm just a man of _simple_ tastes." He turned back to face the Commissioner. "Still, gotta admire the audacity. The vision..."

Down below, Bullock allowed a momentary smirk to cross his face. "It's been defused. This dumbass can't set it off anymore."

The Joker didn't look back at the Lieutenant, choosing instead to face the Commissioner. "Ah, but it _is _still there, isn't it? Right. Under. Your. Noses. Imagine my surprise. Fortunately, I'm not really one to look a gift horse in the mouth."

Beneath the cowl Bruce blinked, an unnatural coldness settling into his stomach. Below him the Commissioner stiffened much the same way as he made the connection too. Almost as though it was to echo his nightmare, the Joker brandished a small item he produced from his coat. It was his usual unrefined design, wires and open circuitry simply and crudely cobbled together alongside a small toggle switch and antenna. Somehow Bruce knew the remote would be just as effective as Nigma's. The Joker had never shown himself to be stupid or simple. Despite his unique brand of crazy he was anything if not effective. Maybe it wouldn't be able to work from anywhere in the city, but that didn't matter. Not here. Not if he was actually going to use it.

But he'd disabled the link to the police band _and _the wireless router. Hell, he'd dropped a chunk of it on the alley floor, now neatly packed away in a police evidence bag. The thing was nothing but a collection of disparate parts. Yes, they could still produce an explosion, but they were no longer linked. There was no detonator. So, how could the Joker even think that he could make use of it?

Unless he'd found the bomb long before tonight.

_Imagine my surprise. _He'd said that. The Joker had found it by accident. But, if he'd just happened to stumble on it then what was he doing in the sub-basement of Police Plaza in the first place? Most people didn't even know it existed. Granted, the Joker wasn't most people, but still...

Bruce's eyes darted toward the end of the alley and what he could see of the building beyond it, still bathed brilliantly in police spotlights and swimming in a crowd of people. By now the icy, prickly feeling had traveled up his spine, sitting knotted heavily between his shoulder blades. The crazy bastard was actually going to set it off, wasn't he? This had already been a part of some kind of larger plan for him. He was just adapting Nigma's device to his own ends. This wasn't a bargaining chip. Not for him. He didn't do those kinds of things. This was meant to go off.

Officers and emergency personnel had begun the evacuation soon after Nigma's capture, but it wasn't enough time. Not nearly enough time. Not for the building to be completely empty. There'd still be well over a hundred people in the building not counting the investigators, medical personnel, and emergency responders. Possibly _way _more than a hundred. Most thought the threat past after all.

Getting the building emptied wouldn't be possible then. And he couldn't make it to the bomb in time to stop it. Not if he also expected time to defuse whatever the Joker had cobbled together. The clown wasn't going to stick around long enough chatting with Gordon and his boys for that. He needed the body count and _he_ didn't bluff. Not like Nigma. Unless this was another threat to get at something else the police headquarters _was _coming down and the only way he could stop it was to take down the Joker directly.

Bruce glanced back down below him. He could be on top of the man in seconds. Breaking a finger or wrist quickly shouldn't pose a problem to keep him from manipulating the detonator. From there the tranquilizer in his gauntlet would have him unconscious in seconds. All told six, maybe eight seconds elapsed.

And Gordon would be dead.

He shifted to look at the man with a gun to his head. If Bruce saved the building he also guaranteed his friend's death. Sacrifice one for the many. Should be easy enough. It was hard, cold logic. So, why couldn't he make himself move?

No, there _had _to be some other way. Some way to save everyone.

Alfred keyed in at almost that exact moment, guessing his master's needs now as ever. "Sir, we're bringing the Wraith's ECM suite online now," he explained quickly. "We'll begin hunting for his remote's signal as soon as it's powered up."

Bruce bit his tongue before asking how long that would take. For now he couldn't risk being detected up in the shadows. Surprise was still far too important an element to just give up casually. As usual his butler was one step ahead of him though.

"I'd hazard to say we'll need approximately three minutes for this, Master Wayne. Until then you are, unfortunately, on your own."

In the shadows the billionaire clenched his jaw in frustration. Three minutes was a lifetime in a game like this. Given the Joker's unpredictability it could also very easily be not nearly enough time.

"_Oh_ and how I've been _itching _to get back into the swing of things," the Joker was saying below him, oblivious to his strategizing. "Periods of...ah...inactivity can really grate on a guy like me. I'm a man that likes to stay busy." He leaned in a little towards the Commissioner. "And _tonight _we get to set things in motion."

Gordon continued frowning, glaring from behind his glasses with the barrel of the rifle against his skull. "What's your game?" he growled. "What's the point of all this?"

"Oh, nothing especially new. Now...I _tried_ to show you all true human nature before. You remember. The night that Harvey De...oh, _that's right_, excuse me. I'm sorry." He smiled knowingly at the Commissioner and winked. "The night...Detective _Ramirez _abducted your family and committed those..._shocking _killings."

Gordon's hands knotted into fists at his side. "Get to the point."

"My point? My point? Oh, my point is that you're all just clinging to a false sense of safety. This...civilization," he crowed, spreading his arms wide. "All...all this meaningless security because of some..._crazy _system you've concocted for yourself. My point is that when it comes...ah..._crashing_ down around you you'll finally see things for what I do. That it's fake. A crutch. A _thing_ that holds us back and doesn't allow us to be what we're meant to."

"Meant to be?" Bullock growled, glaring at the Joker from off to the man's right. "You mean be like you. A freak."

The criminal shook his head and laughed. "No, no, no. God no. I'm...one of a kind. No, I _want _them to just...be themselves. Free to be and do whatever they want. Free to be...human for once. From embracing that we're not meant to be _crammed_ into some little mold that doesn't fit. When the chips are down, no, you'll see what _they _do."

"Two minutes," Alfred whispered quietly in Bruce's ear. "Electronic countermeasures are online and searching."

Below him Bullock scoffed, crossing his massive forearms over his chest. "You're insane."

Bruce braced himself, flexing stiff legs as he prepared to make his move, jamming signal in place or not. At the Lieutenant's comment a chill seemed to sweep the alley, freezing everyone in place to see what the madman would do. For a second all the Joker did was stiffen, his face looking away from Bruce's elevated position. Slowly though, he turned, his head bowed forward as he shot Bullock a dark glare out from under a mop of tangled hair while his fingers flexed dangerously at his sides. "No...no. No, I'm really not," he replied ominously.

"But it didn't work last time," the Commissioner cut in. The psychopath's attention remained on the bulky detective for several more tense moments before he allowed the situation to diffuse a bit and turned back towards the Commissioner. "With the ferries. It didn't work. You were wrong. Gotham showed you you're wrong. They showed you they won't cower to your will."

The Joker shrugged, unworried, and roughly nodded. "True," he allowed. "They did. That was...ah...disappointing. But I wasn't thinking _big_ enough, you see." He raised his arms a bit to encompass everything around them, the detonator very prominent in his right hand. "I know that now. Little thing I realized as a...guest of the penal system. Why dream at all if you're not going to dream _big_?"

"Then what do you want from _us_?" the Commissioner asked, taking a step forward. The gunman at his back matched him step for step, never hesitating or flinching in the least at the man's sudden movements. "You always wanted something. Every time. Batman unmasked. Then you wanted his identity kept safe in return for a hospital. What is it this time?"

The Joker just smiled and shook his head, licking the corner of his lips in the process. "No. No choices. Not this time. Not option 'A' or 'B'. Not anymore. See, I...I figured that out too. It's funny what isolation can do to people, you know? Gives them lots of time to...think. No...no. No choices. Time to watch things crumble and laugh along when all these _civilized _people turn on each other once they're all alone."

"Kill him."

Bruce's head snapped back to Gordon. Simultaneously, all of the officers' eyes widened and turned towards the Commissioner as well. "Sir?" Bullock managed, breaking the tense silence after a few seconds.

Gordon didn't even blink, staring evenly at the Joker across from him. "You heard me. Kill him."

"_Oh_, a _twist_," the Joker squeaked, looking far more pleased with things than he should be. "How very interesting."

Bullock hesitated glancing back and forth between his boss and the psychopath before settling on the older man. "Commissioner, but that'll mean..."

Gordon snapped. "I know what it _damn _well means, Harvey. But, this can't go on." He finally looked away from the clown towards his Lieutenant, his eyes hard and serious. "Shoot him and end it. _Now. _That's an order."

Bullock's jaw tightened, but he reached over to gently take the weapon out of Montoya's hands while the Joker looked on, his eyes sparkling. When the big detective simply fingered the weapon at his side, tapping it uncomfortably against his leg for a moment he finally laughed out loud, the sound ringing up and down the bare brick of the alley. Slowly, the barrel rose to point at the psychopath's head. He just watched on in amusement.

"One minute, sir," Alfred whispered again, continuing the countdown despite the tense standoff.

Gordon nodded gently at his friend and actually allowed a small smile. "It's okay, Harvey."

Bullock nodded to himself, acknowledging the Commissioner's words, but never looking at him. To do so would probably destroy what resolve he had.

Bruce shifted slightly, altering his target. Six, maybe eight seconds. He could have the gunman poised to kill Gordon on the ground and incapacitated in that window once he left the railing. A window that would probably prove too tight. Still, he'd try. There was always the chance one bullet, even if it was to the head, wouldn't be fatal.

Still, the Joker watched and waited, one corner of his lips curled up in a deranged grin.

The Lieutenant continued staring down the sites at him, not moving. "Bullock..." Gordon tried. The only response was the man's jaw tightening. "Harvey, you know you have to."

"Yeah..._Harvey_," the Joker mimicked, stepping even closer to the head of MCU. "Now's your chance. Time to be a...hero."

The detective's eyes narrowed but he still didn't pull the trigger. Above him, Bruce held his breath and waited. He still had nothing better. He could deal with one or the other quickly, but not both. Not quickly enough.

"No?" Feigning disappointment, the clown finally shrank back a bit, going so far as to even turn his back on Bullock. "Although...I suppose I _should _tell you that I came more prepared than just...you know...him," he suddenly warned, gesturing toward the lone gunman, still pointing an automatic rifle at the Commissioner. "_She _insisted. Didn't want to miss all the...fun."

The medic that had been treating Bullock before the Joker strutted into the alley had been pushed toward the back of the group, off to the side and against the brick wall behind the big Lieutenant. Until now she'd been cowering down, pressed against the building in fear. Now, a vacant, innocent smile broke out over her face, partially obscured by the ballcap covering a tangle of dirty blond hair. Calmly and carefully she reached into her equipment bag and came back up with a belt of grenades, their pins tied together roughly\ with a long cord as she rose.

"Twenty seconds until signal acquisition, Master Wayne."

The giggle is what had Bullock turning around, Gordon's eyes and the other officers following suit as she stepped out and around the towering man, the vacant, smiling expression now firmly plastered over her features. The gun that had been trained on the Joker recentered on her for a split second before spinning back on its original target.

"Ah, ah, ah..." the Joker smiled, the corners of his mouth pulling at his scars. "Wouldn't want to give her any ideas. She really doesn't take much prodding."

Gordon motioned for his men to turn their weapons off the former psychologist and took another tentative step forward. "Okay," he said shakily. "Okay. Just...listen. There's no reason to do anything...unnecessary."

The Joker just smiled. "Oh, on the contrary. I believe this is _very _necessary."

"Ten seconds, sir," Alfred counted off quietly.

At this point Gordon had very few avenues left to pursue. With the threat now on everyone in the alley he had little leverage to threaten the Joker back. His life was no longer the only one at stake. Even that was gone to him. The momentum was swinging more and more towards the clown and he didn't have any more room to maneuver.

But, Bruce only needed another nine seconds.

The Commissioner held up both hands in surrender, his voice pleading. "Don't. Anything. Please. Just...don't."

The Joker just grinned back before shaking his head slowly. "Oh..._Commissioner. _You really have nothing I want." The hideously scarred man shrugged lightly. "Sorry."

Then he flicked the switch with his thumb.

The ground rumbled immediately, a throaty sound that reached the building Bruce was perched on, rocking it slightly as aged brick and mortar groaned and rattled from the muffled explosion occurring two stories underground and less than a block away. A spit of fire danced momentarily out of some small vent shafts back out on the street before dying down just as quickly.

And then that was it. Things settled back into a tense silence, the entire gathering of people in the alley below and out on the street frozen in place waiting for the next shoe to drop. Most didn't even know what had just occurred.

After several seconds with nothing further happening, the Joker raised a curious eyebrow, glancing down at the detonator.

"Ummm..."

But Nigma's expression, sitting handcuffed on the ground told Bruce all he needed to know.

All heads snapped back around, focusing out past the alley's entrance when a loud crack echoed off the headquarters building and down the alley. The sound of materials shearing and failing slowly began to become audible, growing more and more intense by the minute until it was a dull, encompassing roar. The crowd of people slowly emptying the building began tearing at each other, falling over one another in their haste to get out, clawing for the open plaza beyond the doors. Then the southern wall buckled, a long, jagged crack appearing across the plaster and concrete facade, showering shards down on the sidewalk and street.

Ominously, the police band was dead quiet, everyone similarly watching in horror and without an answer as pieces continued raining down.

Things began happening almost too quickly to keep straight after that.

One of the giant doric columns lining the street front snapped near its midpoint, the strain of the failing building becoming too much for it to continue bearing the mammoth weight. The upper half fell free a split second later, crushing half a dozen scrambling people immediately. That led to more failures as the structure's foundations and support members failed in a cascade, crumbling away beneath it to the horror of all, both outside and within. With the added weight even more began crumbling, the entire proceeding picking up speed. Windows shattered as their frames bent, showering the terrified, retreating crowd in glass. Above it all, the great steel ribbed dome high above the headquarter's soaring lobby suddenly collapsed to the sound of rending metal, disappearing from view back within the building. A plume of dust spewed out the great glass doors at the entry in response, swallowing part of the panicked mass of people. Like a deck of cards, one wall after another then began following it, folding in on themselves as the entire iconic structure collapsed slowly, but inexorably in on itself, sending more plumes of dust and debris skywards as the weight piling up more and more pulverized those materials laying beneath them.

In a panic people were streaming from the site in all directions while the six story structure continued to come down behind them. Licks of fire danced near the rubble at the center of the wreckage as gas mains ruptured and ignited loosing small explosions here and there as flames swept forward. Before long the street outside the alley was obscured by the hazy brown combination of dust and smoke, the flashing lights of emergency vehicles casting strange ribbons of color through the grit while people continued to scream and cry in the distance.

Bruce couldn't move, staring numbly out into the mass of dust as it swirled about. He hadn't stopped it. Five seconds. They'd only needed five seconds more.

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><p><em>AN: Anyone see that coming? I mean, really? Obviously, the next chapter ought to be...interesting. And here's where the Joker begins to reassert his prominence in the heirarchy of Batman's rogues gallery. Thoughts?_


	50. Chapter 50

_Alright, so obviously this took far longer than I intended. At least you get a REALLY long chapter. Some of the scenes really took me awhile to feel out. You have no idea how much I tweaked and retweaked things so they'd convey what I wanted them too. Hell, even now I'm a little conflicted about some of it. Let me know what you think.  
><em>

_As always, feel free to leave a review. I'm always curious what you guys think and what questions you may have. They'll all get answered. I always enjoy interacting with you guys.  
><em>

A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.

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><p>The Lieutenant coughed roughly, bathed in the clinging dust as he covered his mouth, fighting to regain his footing by pushing off the dirty pavement he'd hugged as soon as that cloud of dust came barreling down the alley toward him. Stumbling on something unseen in the swirling haze he managed to rise to his knees, straining to make out shapes and silhouettes through the debris. Somewhere the sick son-of-a-bitch responsible for all this was still out there. And that man was going to <em>have <em>to deal with him. Far as he was concerned that simply meant a single pull of the trigger.

At some point he made the mistake of catching a glimpse out the end of the alley where there was a conspicuous _lack_ of a dark silhouette through the haze. Of course he knew it wouldn't be there, but still...

It was gone. Just like that it was gone. The building, the people, the resources...hell, it'd been standing for more than a century without so much as a scratch. A beacon to law and order in a city that all too often scoffed at the notion of such things. And it had been brought crumbling to its knees by some lunatic in some goddamned face paint.

More than that, its walls and its people were all the home and all the family Harvey had in this world. It was his _life._ Yeah, the Joker and him were gonna have some words. That's for damn sure. Gordon would...

And all too suddenly Bullock realized there hadn't been an accompanying gunshot alongside the blast. He'd just assumed...

Shit.

Awkwardly, his injuries and disorientation betraying him, Harvey swung back the opposite way, his weapon coming around steadily, trailing his eyes by merely a fraction of a second.

With the particulates slowly settling, coating the alley in a fine brown-gray dust it wasn't that hard to find him. The Commissioner was being dragged roughly back up to his feet, his potential executioner grabbing at his collar with one hand with the assault rifle still firmly in place against the base of the older man's neck. Both men were caked in the fine dust, the Commissioner's glasses all but opaque while the other man's uniform was more beige now than black. Gordon was doing his best to struggle, but with the leverage the other man had it wouldn't last long. No telling why he hadn't already been killed. Maybe he was to be used as a hostage? Maybe it was merely a temporary oversight? Either way, it was an opening, but a damned tiny one.

The Lieutenant brought himself up to one knee, trying to widen his base so he'd be good and steady before pulling the trigger. The gunman might still get a shot off, but this was the best chance he was gonna get and he'd be damned if...

The Batman slammed into the masked gunman in a shadowy blur, wrenching his trigger finger until there was an audible _snap _as he drove the man into the ground, cutting off the pained scream that was beginning to gurgle out of his mouth. The rifle went clattering away safely, skittering well out of reach as Gordon stumbled off to one side, the momentum knocking him clear of the entire struggle. Not that it was much of a struggle. No sooner had both men reached pavement then the armored vigilante was pressing one of his forearms into the base of the man's neck, the weakly struggling opponent going limp beneath him in a matter of seconds.

The whole thing was impossibly fast. He'd certainly heard plenty about what the Batman could do. That night at the precinct he'd even seen a little of it, but watching _that_...well, it was just downright impressive.

And maybe more than a little scary.

Already the man in black was rolling away though, coming up in a swirl of cape facing Second Street, his arms tucked under the flowing fabric and out of site. Bullock snapped himself back to the moment and adjusted himself accordingly, coming back around as well as he too looked for the other two criminals.

Like everyone else, they were dirty and coated in the remnants of the once great building, blending slightly into the surroundings of the alley simply due to the fact that everything was now roughly the same neutral hue. Even in the odd, filtered lighting the Lieutenant could still make out the man's grotesque smile though.

The Joker had retreated towards the end of the alley, still backing slowly but seemingly unhurriedly away and flanked by Quinzel on his right. She just stared darkly out from under the hood of the paramedic's hat she still wore, her now infamous empty grin accompanying lifeless eyes as she continued to twirl the belt of explosives at her side roughly, heedless of the danger that posed. The attention of both was squarely on the most recent arrival though, the Joker's eyes practically gleaming with unrestrained amusement at seeing the vigilante again.

"And here you...are." The scarred man laughed hoarsely, his smile again pulling grotesquely at the sides of his mouth. "Never one to disappoint, are you? A man after my own heart. _So glad _you could make it."

The Batman remained silent, crouched and tensed as he glared at the Joker twenty yards away. Then he rose, his arms remaining shrouded beneath his cape as he took a menacing step forward.

"Ah, ah, ah..." The Joker matched the step backward, holding up a finger in warning before looking to his tiny compatriot. Quinzel just cocked her head, never even seeming to notice his attention. The Batman did though, looking back at Bullock for the slightest of seconds before coming to a stop.

For a fleeting time there was an eerie quiet pervading the alley. Sounds were already weirdly distorted from all the fine particles hanging in the air and coating everything. Even the drone of the police sirens seemed subdued and drowned out. Almost like it was coming from some other, distant world.

Harvey quietly maneuvered himself around the makeshift cover he'd found for himself, stepping as lightly as possible down one side of the alley. His footsteps still sounded like thunder in the silence, making him flinch with each stride. The Joker and his little minion never seemed to notice though.

Never blinking, the clown eventually shrugged, running the tip of his tongue slowly over his bottom lip as he continued to study the armored vigilante. "Not one for small talk I see," he tried, his voice soft within the confined quarters. "Guess some things never change." Then he smiled "Though your own actions speak plenty, don't they?" He shook his head in feigned sympathy, clicking his tongue against his teeth. "Just. Like. Last time. Letting another..._innocent_ group of people die because you wouldn't make the hard..."

The vigilante took another step forward, his rough, grating words carrying over the other man's clearly. "It ends tonight," he promised.

The Joker just smiled once again, his expression clearly unperturbed by the vigilante's threat as he angled his face to look at the vigilante out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, but I don't think that's up to you, is it?" he murmured. Then he looked directly at Bullock. That brought the Lieutenant up short. He knew he wasn't exactly gonna sneak up on the two of them, but the way the clown looked at you was just damned unnerving. Almost like he was picturing you in your casket. But, just as quickly the murderer glanced away, looking pointedly at Quinzel again where she cheerfully spun the grenades around above her head in a wide looping arch. "Ah...not unless you'd like to add to tonight's little...spectacle."

"You've got nowhere to run freak," Bullock roared, taking a step forward again as the two murderers retreated back down the alley further, his weapon centered on the smaller man's torso. "And I don't need much more of an excuse if you get what I'm sayin'."

"Oh, Lieutenant," The Joker smirked and shrugged at the Lieutenant. "No, you already had all the chance in the world. I _gave_ you that and what did you do with it? Hmm? And now you think I'm just gonna hand over another one? _Yeah_. I'm thinking I'll...ah...take my chances from here on out." Harvey felt his finger close over the gun's trigger, the pressure slowly building on as it inched millimeter by millimeter back. "But _not _to leave you without a parting gift..."

Quinzel's childlike smile widened and she reached back.

At the same time the Batman's hand shot out from under his cape, the strange, dim light reflecting off several black objects as he loosed a group of small, dagger-like flechettes. Covering the distance in the blink of an eye, two of the sharpened projectiles impacted the diminutive woman as her arm arched forward. She made no sound as they buried themselves in the meat of her forearm, but the grenades jarred loose at an unexpected angle all the same, still heading in the police officers' direction, but going to fall well short of their intended target now. Halfway there the string finally pulled taut, the steel pins pulling free of the small oblong shapes as they tumbled through space.

The damned shrapnel they'd send flying could certainly still make a mess of things though.

"Everybody _down!_" the Lieutenant bellowed, diving to the side and trying to scramble back for any cover available. At almost the same time he heard shouts of alarm from others in the group, themselves stumbling to try and get out of the blast range as well. Only the Batman stood his ground, freeing his other hand from within his cape in the same motion that he followed through after the flechettes and firing a tether at a rusty, graffiti coated steel dumpster lining the alley wall as the explosives sailed through the air.

Belted together the whole contraption clattered to the ground less than ten yards away from the Lieutenant and the Batman.

With a groan, the metal refuse bin lurched forward a few inches, its old wheels fighting years of rust and weathering. A second impossibly strong heave on the wire finally rolled it out into place almost halfway into the alleyway between the buildings, the grenades impacting with a dull thud against the far side of it after rolling several feet.

Then the Batman was diving away for Gordon, pulling him roughly to the ground and blanketing him with his own body and cape as the explosion rocked the alleyway.

Even from his position behind

The dumpster absorbed most of the blast, turning the the rigid, geometric steel bin into a tangle of blackened, jagged metal. Shrapnel still managed to punch through in places, leaving it pitted with similar gouges cut into the concrete and brick of the walls to either side. Within the enclosure itself something managed to catch fire from the burst of excessive heat, obscuring some of the far half of the alley from the officers as Bullock rose heavily to his knees, quickly taking stock of the aftermath.

Some of the deadly metal fragments from the grenade casing had made it past the crude barrier the Batman had created. Probably shooting out beneath it through the narrow slit separating its bottom from the ground.

One tactical officer was holding his arm, his dark clothing already slick with blood, but he was mobile and conscious. A good sign despite the obvious signs of extreme pain on his face. Another plain clothes detective had a deep cut on his scalp behind his hairline, the blood already being held back by a crimson stained handkerchief that was being pressed against it. Besides that it seemed to be little more than scrapes and bruises. Hell, if that was all they'd sustained it was a damned miracle. Group of explosives like that could have killed and maimed a whole hell of a lot of them.

To his left the Batman came swirling back up as well, his black cape billowing around him as he rose into the dust and smoke. The Commissioner sat up slowly at his feet, propping himself on his elbows as he looked first up at the masked vigilante and then past him toward what he could see of the alley and Second Street. Bullock followed suit, his jaw clenching in anger as he peered through the haze.

There was no sign of the Joker or his little lackey. Only empty alleyway leading out to the city's street.

Stumbling again, the Lieutenant pushed up to his feet, the Batman's glance flickering over for the briefest of moments. Harvey just nodded to him, his chin moving only a tiny amount as he allowed himself the one momentary sign of grudging respect for the man. He _had _just saved all their bacon despite the tragedy going on at Police Plaza.

"Go," he muttered darkly under his breath. "Get the little prick."

He was too far away for his softly spoken words to carry, but the Batman allowed one more fleeting look down at Gordon before tearing off down the alley, hurtling fluidly over the twisted metal heap blocking the way and through the dancing tongues of fire. A minute later he almost seemed to fly up into the night, his cape spread tautly out behind him as he rose like a shot into the darkness before disappearing from view over the top of one of the nearby buildings.

The Lieutenant sank back down heavily on the dirty crates, feeling the weariness and injuries seep back into his bones from the long night. Slowly, the others were getting up as well, some assisting the wounded and some heading back out to the mouth of the alley to begin seeing to the disaster outside. Montoya helped up the Commissioner, the older man favoring his ankle a little, but stubbornly shaking her off once he was standing. Together the two stared off in the direction the Batman and the Joker had headed.

"Come on," the Commissioner finally said, directing his attention to Bullock. He let out a long sigh, rubbing his forehead gingerly as Montoya continued forward. "Lot to do." He allowed a grim look back towards the piles of rubble beginning to emerge from the dust as it continued to settle. "Lot to do and I'm gonna need you Harvey. I'm gonna need everyone." Then he looked off vacantly where the Joker had once stood. "We're gonna need to get some people on this. Need to find him before he manages to do anything else."

Bullock met the older man's eyes and nodded before turning back towards Second Street himself.

"Think the best man's already working on it."

* * *

><p>It was late. Or early depending on how you looked at it. Within the dark confines of the cave it was all relative, the gradual change of the level of diffused light visible through the roaring waterfall at the cave's entrance the only indication of the progression of time in the outside world.<p>

Selina cupped the hot mug with both hands, inhaling the vapors coming off the hot liquid and using it to fend off the chill and dampness as she stood near the edge of the main platform, staring out at the roiling water. Occasionally she took a sip, letting Alfred continue working quietly off to the side at one of the workstations.

They were both tired. Hell, Bruce had to be damn near exhausted then at this point, scouring the city for hours after the Joker blew up the GCPD's headquarters building. With the coming daylight he'd _have _to come in though. Have to get some rest. Or whatever he considered rest. There'd be nothing else he could do besides be conspicuous out on the streets of Gotham during broad daylight. The clown was gone for now. No amount of aimless searching was going to change that. What they needed was a plan of attack. They needed to concentrate and figure out where to go from here. Cause she sure as hell didn't have a clue.

Selina arched a well manicured eyebrow at that as she took another sip of the dark coffee.

And when the hell had _I _become _we _to her?

A beeping from one of the nearby consoles alerted the two of them that Bruce was nearby, the cave's proximity warning meant to allow anyone in the wrong place to get away from the splashdown area should the billionaire choose to make use of that entrance.

Twenty seconds later he arrived, doing exactly that.

Just by the way the vehicle slammed through the waterfall, sending spray careening out across the lower level and garage you could tell the state of mind Bruce was in. It was almost like he was taking out his anger and frustrations on the sheet of water itself, blasting it to bits rather than take the tunnel entry as she'd seen him do before when he was in less of a mood. With the water still sloshing violently over the rocks in the lower basin the engine gunned again, growling darkly as it climbed the low, uneven slope up to the metal grating of the garage floor.

Not that she could especially blame him for being hurt and frustrated. They were all feeling a certain, sobering sadness over the night's events. A feeling of failure and powerlessness. Alfred especially had been hard on himself immediately following the blast. Insisting that he should have been faster in powering up the Wraith's electronic countermeasures and disabling the remote. Adamant that he should have been able to do _something. _For now he was just silently going about his duties though, bringing the drone in for the day as well.

Selina had a much more...realistic perspective on the matter. Of course she was saddened by the events. She was only human. But, they'd tried, hadn't they? Hell, they'd been the only ones that had really, truly tried. Right? Just the three of them. Yeah, maybe they'd failed in the end, but coming as close as they had to averting disaster had to count for something. Lives had still been saved because of them. Certainly those that weren't were tragic, but it was already time to put that in the past and get the job done. Spending her life on the uncertain, unforgiving streets of some of America's worst cities since a young age had taught her that lesson. No time to dwell on the past when the present and future looked almost as bleak.

For once in her life Selina knew better than to say anything though as Bruce slid out of the giant black vehicle and stormed to the stairs that ascended up to the computer stations. He never even glanced at her or Alfred, bypassing her completely where she stood near the top of the steps overlooking the rest of the cave.

The look on his face, or what she could see of his mouth and eyes, only served to reinforce her initial gut instinct. This was _not _a man willing to listen to reason at the moment. Even words of support or condolence would only serve to exacerbate him, falling on assuredly deaf ears and perhaps even inflaming things all over again. Alfred too seemed at a loss, watching his charge carefully out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise staying mute as he worked through the complicated procedures to bring the Wraith back into the cave for a safe landing.

See, this was why she wasn't girlfriend material. This right here. She never knew what to say in a situation like this. Never knew what someone really needed to feel or hear. Though then again, did any girlfriend? A situation like this wasn't exactly in the manual.

And why the hell was she thinking of herself in these terms?

Bruce didn't sit down though. He activated a runtime on the computers, downloading all the local camera footage...media, traffic, private security...for review and then stayed where he was, staring at the screens yet looking right through them at the same time. At his sides his fists clenched and unclenched slowly at about the same rate as his jaw, giving him the aura that he was almost pulsating with pent up rage.

When the computer beeped quietly he began typing again, slamming his fingers down on the keyboard hard as he set it to search and filter the collected data for anything bearing a resemblance to the Joker.

The Wraith roaring through the waterfall finally broke up the uncomfortable silence, the steady whine of it's turbofans kicking up a spray of water and sending swirling winds around the rest of the cave as it entered into a hover over its normal berth. Noiselessly the landing struts engaged, unfolding and lowering from the angular shell as it came to a rest on the concrete, its fans already folding up and out of the way as they steadily came to a stop.

Selina glanced at Alfred to see him closing up the control suite and removing the large earphones he'd been wearing, but he was focused on Bruce, watching the younger man with concern.

"No speeches, Alfred."

The butler pursed his lips for a split second before stepping forward. "Merely wondering if you or Miss Kyle would fancy something to eat," he said. "None of us has had anything in a great while now and I think we'd all operate better with full stomachs."

Bruce didn't look at him. "Not hungry."

Selina finally found her voice, stepping up next to the billionaire's eldest friend. "Bruce..." she managed.

He shifted and looked at her for the first time since getting back to the cave, his eyes boring beneath her skin to the point she almost took a step back. It's not that they held anger for her, just...she'd never seen that look before. Like he'd been broken a bit and was blaming the world at large. There was a hardness she hadn't expected out of the man that had held her so softly and spoken so openly at times. Obviously she knew him as the Batman. Just not _this _Batman.

"Just..." She glanced over at Alfred. The man _had _known Bruce a hell of a lot longer than she had, but he didn't give any indication that he would intervene. Was this actually new territory for him too? She looked back where the billionaire was still staring at her. "Just..." she said finally, motioning between herself and Alfred, "just...what can _we_ do?"

His gaze didn't waver for a second, moving back and forth between the two others in the cave before his shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly, his eyes softening the slightest bit. Then he turned back to the keyboard, staring at it like it held some sort of answer for what needed to come next.

"With the rescue and clean-up operations Gordon's hands are too full to have time to discuss anything for now," he began quietly. At least for now this wasn't the Batman's voice though his cowl still obstructed the man's features. Selina chose to take that as a good sign. "So, any attempt to find the Joker will be on us. For now anyway. I'm sure the MCU will be following up on it as well, but they're even more undermanned now after everything that just happened." He shook his head the slightest bit. "I don't think we can count on their assistance." Bruce finally looked up towards the screens at Alfred's work station, watching as fire crews clambered over the still smoking rubble of what once was the police headquarters. "The...crime scene is too much for me to break down and analyze by myself," he admitted. "We'll have to let them handle it. Keep tabs on the medical examiner and crime scene services so we get any information as they do. Until we have more _all _I can come up with is reviewing this stuff." He gestured again at the search engine and facial recognition software cycling through hours upon hours of digital video before sighing and hanging his head again, dropping heavily into the cushioned chair behind him. "And this isn't enough."

Selina allowed herself to move forward, placing a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring. This was still new territory, but she at least had to try. The billionaire didn't react to her touch or look up to her.

"You're blaming yourself," she said.

"That's because it was my fault."

"No. No it wasn't. So, _stop_ it. Okay? Cause now that's over and you need to catch the son-of-a-bitch that's _actually _responsible."

When there was no response she settled her other hand on the opposite shoulder standing behind him where she could rest her forehead against the top of his. Maybe if forcefulness failed she needed to try something softer. "Hey," Selina tried a little awkwardly. "It happened, but it's over. It was horrible, but it's over. You did everything you could, alright? We all did. There was _no _way to know that maniac would just show up out of the blue and do that. Okay? You did _everything _you could."

She let the silence hang over them then, unsure what to say next. Right before she looked over again to Alfred for help Bruce stirred.

"Tell that to them," he whispered, still watching the news. Selina didn't have a response to that, standing quietly by and watching Bruce as he continued to stare past her at the morbid videos displayed on the screens. "I could have stopped him," he said quietly. "I _should_ have stopped him. Because it's not over. It'll never be over with _him_"

Alfred sighed and stepped forward then, shaking his head sadly. "Master Wayne, you and I both..."

"You weren't _there._ You don't know how close I was. How easily I could have..."

"Nonetheless, It's not your fault," the older man interrupted, "and you shouldn't..."

Bruce's fists slamming down into the desktop hard enough to rattle the keyboards and send a sheath of files flying was enough to startle Selina, making her take a step back as the billionaire shot up out of the chair.

"Dammit, it _is _my fault!" he shouted at his butler, facing his old friend before just as suddenly turning and storming down the raised walkway away from the two of them. Halfway to the workshop he seemed to change his mind, turning and facing out over the cave as he gripped the railing, twisting his hands around the smooth steel in frustration and anger. "Don't you get it? I sat there and just _watched_! _Watched! _He killed _hundreds _and I did absolutely _nothing!_"

"But, you didn't _do_ nothing, did you?" the older man tried. "No one _did _nothing. And you can't blame yourself for something _he _did. You didn't kill anyone. You didn't push the button. _He _did. It was always him. You cannot allow the dead to become your burden because if you blame yourself for their deaths than where will it stop? You'll make the lives of everyone in this city your personal responsibility when they're not."

"But, I didn't do enough to stop him," Bruce growled. Before Alfred could rebut him again, the young man changed tacks, still standing halfway down the steel walkway. "The whole reason I became...this, the whole reason I do it all is to prevent things exactly like _this _from ever happening. Dammit, I wanted to help people! Save them. Make a better city. Not be a party to mass murder." He gripped the railing hard again, shaking his head as he stared off towards the raging waterfall at the far wall. "Tell me, Alfred," he said in a quieter, more even voice, "are things even better since the Batman? Has Gotham improved at all or have I just managed to make things worse? Am I exactly the cancer I was trying to eradicate? Cause right now I don't see the light at the end of the tunnel."

The butler looked thoughtful for a second before walking softly down the walkway himself, moving to stand a few feet away from his charge facing out towards the cave as well. "It may be difficult to see right now," the older man acknowledged, "but yes, this city is in a better place because of you." Bruce scoffed disbelievingly at his side. "Yes, there are _still_ men like the Joker out there in the world and what he does is monstrous and evil and he must absolutely be stopped." Alfred sighed and bowed his head. "Unfortunately, I fear there will always be men like him walking the Earth. There will always be monsters in one shape or another. Some worse than others. But, for every one like him or Crane there is also a James Gordon or a Harvey Bullock. Men that share your belief that Gotham can still be fixed and that's it's worth fighting for." Bruce finally looked over at him, his eyes still angry, but finally showing that he was also listening. "You see, there's a foundation here, sir," Alfred continued, speaking slowly, but nodding to himself. "One you've helped to take seed. When you came back into the world of the living you once spoke of the corruption and deceit that ran Gotham. So, tell me...are they still running them now? Or are they gone alongside names like Maroni and Falcone and Flass. You yourself once said that you wanted to inspire the people of this city and then you flushed people like them out and made it impossible for them to stay in power." He looked at the billionaire with gentle eyes before standing up straight and facing Bruce. "You have people fighting alongside you now in trying to wrest back control, no longer content to sit idly by. You have inspired some. You've made it possible for them _not _to live in fear."

"Maybe," Bruce allowed, looking back towards the computer stations where Selina stood. He couldn't see them from where he stood, but she knew he was referencing the news footage that was still playing. "But maybe they should have still been afraid."

"Perhaps," the butler replied. "But they'd have kept fighting all the same. That's what you've shown everyone. That there's still hope. You said yourself this was never going to be easy, didn't you?" Bruce looked again at Alfred who shook his head sadly. "And I'm afraid you were right. It's not. But is the potential this city holds worth the fight? Because now it's about winning the war. Now it's about showing the monsters that you and those like you will never back down. Because they're looking for weakness and you can't allow them to find any."

Sadly, Bruce smiled the tiniest bit, glancing up at his old friend after a second. "You still believe in me," he said.

"Of course."

The two just looked out over the cave for a few quiet seconds while Selina fidgeted silently. Awkward didn't even begin to cut it. It was like she was watching a moment she had no part of participating in. Hesitantly, unsure if she was inserting herself where she didn't belong she stepped forward to the edge of the walkway before sitting back against the railing several feet away from the two men.

"I made the wrong decision," Bruce said at last to his friend. "I made the wrong call and people paid for it. I'm second guessing myself. Second guessing my actions, my choices..."

"You shouldn't."

"But, how am I supposed to trust myself right now? Why am I the one that should be making these types of choices? I mean, just look at the results tonight."

"Because no one _wants _these choices," the older man replied. "Not willingly. But, you put yourself into a position that now you _have _to make them. And you're strong enough." He rested a wrinkled hand on the young man's shoulder. "I know _you_," Alfred said. "I know that you would have traded your life for theirs if necessary. That you'd do whatever had to be done to save lives and to succeed. You made the decision you thought best. Not because you were a coward or because you hesitated or put your own well being before there's, but because it was the _right _decision at the time. You didn't kill them..."

"No, but I _could _have stopped it," Bruce said more forcefully, anger again tinging his voice the slightest bit. "If I'd gone down into that alley rather than sitting and _waiting_...at the very least I could have bought us more time." He hung his head, eyes fixed on his hand as he flexed his fingers. "At the worst I could have taken out Joker directly and saved everyone. I _could _have done that fast enough."

"And Commissioner Gordon would most likely be dead and the building may _still _have been destroyed despite your best efforts. There's no way of knowing what may have happened should we have made different choices. At least the Commissioner is still alive and those that could evacuate were able to. It's a small consolation, I know, but..."

"I just...I thought I had more time. I thought we had at least five or ten more seconds, you know?"

Selina stepped forward, moving to Bruce's other side where she slid her fingers through his. He didn't look over, but squeezed the tiniest bit. She knew he wasn't going to really feel it through the thick armor of his gloves. Not the warmth and softness of it anyways. But, he'd still _know_.

"We _all _thought we still had time," she said.

Bruce just nodded, still facing away from her. But, he didn't make her remove her hand either. Guess that was something. When she moved her hands to his cowl he similarly didn't flinch, allowing Selina to unlatch it and lift it free to reveal matted, sweat stained hair, a grimy face, and tired, bloodshot eyes.

Selina placed it gently on the ground, taking his hand up again when she was back at his side.

"Ya know," she started, "I hesitated coming to Gotham when Holly's trail led here." Both Bruce and Alfred looked at her. Selina just rested her free hand on the railing and watched the waterfall crash and churn against the dark rocks. "First time that had happened. I'd never had second thoughts before, but you don't know the reputation this city has." She looked up at the man at her side. "You don't know the reputation that _you _have. Trust me, that alone has made this town safer."

"You still came," he pointed out.

She smiled. "Yeah, but I'm certifiable. I make doing dumb things into some kind of an art form." Selina shrugged. "Besides, I had a plan in case I ever ran into you." At her side Bruce cocked an eyebrow in question and she winked. "Seduce you." Silently she felt his body shake the slightest bit as he laughed quietly. Even Alfred was smiling again. "Hey, it worked didn't it?"

Alfred detached himself from their little group and moved off, back towards the computers. Selina watched him from the other side of Bruce, wondering if she could admit the next part to him.

"Okay, I'll kill you if you ever mention this again to anyone, but..." She swallowed hard. Damn she was bad at this stuff. Was this always the way it'd been? "But...but being here...seeing all this...seeing what you do and what that takes. Well, I never thought I'd see someone fighting this hard for people that they'd never even met, you know? I mean, it's...inspiring I guess. You know what I do and where I come from. So, when I say that it's not something I say lightly."

Bruce just continued to watch her. After a second she began to squirm.

"Oh, shut up," she finally managed.

The billionaire smiled slightly again before squeezing her hand a final time and setting off back towards the collection of monitors, the metal decking clanging along beneath his boots.

"We need the identity of Gordon's attacker," he said offhandedly, speaking to both she and Alfred as he settled back into the rolling chair he'd so violently vacated a few minutes earlier. "Police will scan and run his fingerprints. Let's do the same on our end." He shifted slightly, drumming the fingers of one hand on the armrest. "We'll have results quicker. It's a long shot, but with any luck we might be able to follow any trails leading back from him and maybe discover a link to the Joker."

To one side, Selina noticed Alfred typing something in, setting the backdoor into the Gotham Police's systems to notify them once the forensics had been entered.

Bruce didn't notice, his eyes closed as his brain worked furiously. "Also ought to take a look at Quinzel again," he admitted. "Get a fresh perspective going through her records." Finally his eyes opened and he shrugged heavily before glancing at his butler. "We didn't know she had the weapons before. What else could we have missed? Maybe there's more to look at? Properties? Someplace the Joker could use as a safe haven?"

Alfred nodded slowly, likely running things through his own head as well while Selina looked on. "And what of the Joker's knowledge of the existence of the sub basement?" Bruce looked down, his brow tightening as he churned through that particular piece of the puzzle for himself, working out the implications.

It was obviously significant. It took some real digging to find out that it was even there. Hell, they'd pretty much just lucked into discovering it in the end. Bruce would very likely have still been _in _that building when it crumbled, if not for her shot in the dark. So, how had a lunatic figured it out? For her part Selina just arched an eyebrow though at the old man and waited for his further explanation, content to stay silent for now.

Alfred frowned, deep in thought, but continued aloud anyway. "He knew of a place that very few others do," he reasoned. "Even _with_ the proper information we almost missed it. And most aren't hardwired into the city's systems the way we are."

"You're thinking that he may have accessed blueprints for the building," Bruce stated.

"Well, you don't simply collapse a building as old and stout as that without some research or forethought."

"But, he used Nigma's bomb," Selina pointed out. "He wasn't forced to figure that all out for himself. It'd already been done for him."

Bruce nodded, but inclined his head thoughtfully all the same as he continued staring at the desktop in front of him before suddenly leaning forward, typing rapidly. "Doesn't mean he hadn't already done the legwork though. It sounded to me like he stumbled on it. Like it was just dumb luck. But, if he was down there in the first place there must have been a reason." Bruce sat back again and looked at Alfred. "He's been stealing explosives over the past few months, right? A lot of them. So, what if he intended to bring down Police Plaza too? What if that's why he was down there in the first place? He may have been looking to hit the same structural points Nigma was."

"Possible," Alfred said, looking less than convinced. "Still, it's a stretch."

Selina had to concede the point to the billionaire though. As farfetched as it sounded for the Joker to intricately plan much of anything; if he knew about the sub basement at all then it probably followed that he'd had plans for it and been actively looking for...something. Given the fact that he was also a mass murdering lunatic maybe that meant he'd already planned out how to destroy the building himself. Before he'd found Nigma's bomb anyway. Selina pursed her lips, ignoring whatever the two men were discussing. Of course, it was a bit of a gamble to pursue that, but it wasn't like they had a lot of other solid leads at the moment. Everything at this point was a bit of a shot in the dark. At least here there _would _be records pertaining to the city's blueprints. You couldn't just waltz in and have a look like Bruce and Alfred seemed to be able to. Too easy for an undesirable to gain valuable intel.

Not for the first time Selina had to appreciate what the treasure trove of data at their fingertips could mean for her less than legal nighttime activities. Not that she'd betray Bruce's trust of course, but the possibilities were near limitless. And damned enticing. Too bad.

"Alright," the billionaire continued, oblivious to her inner musings, "so we'll check city records. Compile a list of those who have accessed building schematics either digitally or in person. He'd have to have done it under an alias or something, but we can use security footage to narrow it down once we've identified anyone that seems out of place. Alfred," he asked, glancing back at his old friend finally, "think you can take that and run with it?"

The Englishman looked like he wanted to say something more. Knowing him it was probably concerning his charge's eating and sleeping habits rather than the assignment itself, but he bit his lip and nodded once, saying, "Of course, sir." Apparently he'd been encountering this particular immovable object before and knew to pick his battles. Hell, they'd probably been butting heads as long as the Batman had been in existence. If not before.

For the first time since he'd gotten back to the cave Bruce seemed like he was back on a mission. He still looked terrible, tired and beaten, but at least for now he didn't look like he was going to sink further into himself.

"Selina," he said, "I'd also like you to take another look at the blueprints for Police Plaza. Check out the old plans again more thoroughly. You're looking for other access points. Other staircases, sewer or subway access, loading zones...whatever. The Joker sure didn't come in through the lobby so let's find out how he got in there. Maybe that'll lead to something we can run with."

She nodded, but rested a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it down towards the shoulder blade. The man had to be barely holding together. She herself hadn't left either the mansion or cave in well over thirty-six hours, more than thirty of which had been spent awake and she was past exhausted. The level of concentration Selina and Alfred had been putting forth combined with the time made for a draining mix. How Bruce was still going strong despite far more exertion was beyond her. Still, that didn't change the fact that it couldn't go on forever. Maybe a new voice would actually convince him to listen to a little reason.

"Don't you think some of this can wait?" she tried, moving her hand softly back and forth. He tensed immediately, muscles turning hard beneath her touch and causing her to remove her hands, holding them up defensively. "We're gonna miss stuff with the state we're in. All of us. Now I don't know about you, but I know me and Alfred could used some rest. Which means you've gotta be almost dead on your feet."

"I'm fine," was all he said.

"Saying it and it being true are two completely different things."

Bruce turned to look up at her, glaring a little before glancing at Alfred too. "Then go. Get some sleep. I'll meet you back here."

Her hands closed into fists. Christ he could be so damn obstinate. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I..."

Her fingers were sticky. When she'd gone to make a fist three of them on her right hand had the slightest of pull on one another, causing her to look down. Three of her fingers we stained red, the dark blood extending down to the upper part of her palm, already drying on her skin.

She looked in surprise back at the young billionaire as he continued to watch her evenly.

"_Bruce_," she yelled at him, holding up her hand. "_Jesus! _You're _bleeding_."

Far from being upset at the discovery he just nodded to himself, glancing at the viscous red liquid before him before turning back towards the monitors. "Shrapnel. From the grenades," was all he said by way of explanation. "It's fine."

To Selina's right Alfred was already walking forward to look his charge over, a sad look pulling at the corner's of his mouth. No way could this have been the first time he'd had to see this. But still...

"Like _hell _it is," she shot back.

The billionaire eyed Selina again, matching her challenging look, but not saying a word.

"Alright. You want to be mothered? Fine. First, you need that looked at," she began, counting each point off on her fingers as she made them. It probably helped that her fingers had his blood on them. Well, that fact couldn't have hurt her cause anyway. "Then we'll talk about food and sleep. Listen, I get that you have a deathwish or whatever the hell this is, but this affects other people. Alright? People that are gonna have to depend on you and having you dead on your feet tomorrow won't do anybody any good. Not when the Joker's ready to blow up another building and _not_ if it gets you killed as a result."

He stared right back at her, but Selina willed herself not to blink. "Alfred can stitch me up," Bruce said simply. Selina stood her ground, returning his look further until finally he blinked. "_And_ I'll eat something after that, but _down _here. Sleep can wait for a bit longer. At least until we have everything processing and ready to go."

She wanted to fight more, to get him upstairs and out of the damn cave, but a look from Alfred stopped her short. The butler actually looked impressed, smiling warmly at her, but shaking his head the tiniest bit. Not wanting to press her luck she conceded that small victory to Bruce, saying, "Fine," and turning to watch as the older man headed down the stairs for the infirmary after whatever tools he'd need to tend to his young charge's wounds.

A minute later Selina was delicately helping remove part of the armor on Bruce's shoulder blade when he returned, carrying a small case of medical equipment. Without a word he slid the nearest chair over, settling into it and dropping the tray of medical supplies on the counter. Nearby, the elevator sprang into action at the same time grinding and groaning loudly as it began slowly lowering from the manor above.

Everyone froze, Selina still hovering over Bruce and holding a piece of the armor delicately.

Both men looked at each other immediately both expressions seeking to question the other one. When the older man simply arched an eyebrow the billionaire shook his head, moving to stand in the same motion despite missing a portion of the plates on his back. Selina didn't really need any further explanation. Obviously neither man was expecting anyone. She glanced toward the ancient, towering brick archways built into the walls of bare rock where the steel trusses of the lift could be seen. Which left what then?

Without a word Bruce reached for the cowl, smoothly snapping it back into place over his head as he rose, his hands hands going to his belt for...something as he strode away. She and Alfred stayed back, working their way around the side into the brick arcade as the lower portion of the car began to come into view. Without her gear and suit she wasn't as much help as she'd otherwise be. She could still fight, sure, but without her claws and Kevlar it wouldn't take nearly as much to bring her down and she didn't have nearly the bite. Another conversation she and Bruce were going to be revisiting. And soon if she had anything to say about it. He still had yet to provide her with an adequate reason for her belongings being gone beyond "it's a surprise." She'd come up the side, trying to use the shadows beneath the brick arcade for cover and flank whoever was on their way down should they overpower Bruce.

His entire body tensed and ready, Bruce stood tall before the elevator's exit, the awkward angle and his bulk blocking them from seeing much of anything inside as it creaked and wheezed into view. Silently she darted to another of the bulky pillars, edging around just enough to see Bruce. So, it was the sudden relaxation of his posture that had her all the more curious.

Silently, he turned and stalked back past them, giving Selina and Alfred their first good look at their visitor.

"Lucius?" Alfred asked, when the Wayne Enterprises CEO stepped out, closing the safety gate behind him.

Fox made a slight gesture towards one of the monitors of Alfred's station visible from the exit of the elevator. It still showed a news outlet's coverage of the ongoing rescue efforts at the Civic Center. "Sorry bout not calling ahead. Saw the news," he explained simply. "Figured it would be about time for all hands on deck."

Bruce didn't say anything, just sitting back down and turning back to face the monitors, removing his cowl once again only to discard it absently. Used to the billionaire's unique personality quirks Fox simply began walking down the stairs toward Alfred and Selina.

"It's been a long night," Alfred allowed, shaking the man's offered hand after Fox set down one of the rather expensive looking steel cases he was carrying.

"I gathered," he said grimly. "Imagine there's gonna be quite a few of those in the near future." Alfred nodded and turned back towards the computer stations with Lucius following close behind after retrieving his luggage. "Miss Kyle," he said, nodding welcomingly in her direction when he got to her.

"Mister Fox," she returned.

"So, I suppose a welcome is in order. About time we had a little estrogen around here if you ask me. Despite the circumstances it's nice to see you again." If he was all that surprised to see her down here he certainly didn't appear to show it. Then again, she doubted the man startled easily.

She smiled and followed both men back to the main platform and the silent billionaire busily ignoring them all.

"Thought you'd want to know," Fox continued, addressing Bruce now as they proceeded down the gangway. "I took the liberty of having Research and Development start the prep work for another system just like the one you had them produce the last time the Joker was at large." Bruce glanced up at his company's chairman at that, seemingly surprised by that bit of news though whatever it was Fox was referencing Selina hadn't a clue. The older man placed the two cases he'd arrived with down nearby before straightening up. "Now, I still don't like it and I still think it's too dangerous." He paused and watched the news feed for a brief second. "But after tonight...well..."

"Thank you," Bruce whispered. Fox just nodded quietly. "When?"

"That's the thing. Too long I'm afraid," Fox replied, frowning. "Since we destroyed the original specifications alongside the prototype they're essentially starting from scratch. Two weeks at the most. Figure a week and a half if we have them work around the clock."

"Make it a week and a half."

Lucius nodded, smiling slyly. "Figured that's what you'd say." Bruce's gaze traveled down to his cargo for a fleeting second before flickering to Selina and then back to his father's old friend. Lucius nodded some kind of confirmation. "Figured now's as good a time as any for that too."

The billionaire settled back a moment, watching the chairman as he contemplated something before looking similarly at Selina. She just arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her. Men and their stupid games. Why couldn't they just dispel with all the cloak and dagger? Being kept in the dark was getting old. Fast. And she thought _she _kept a lot of secrets.

"I told you I was still thinking about it," Bruce finally said bluntly to Fox. "Not that I'd made a decision."

Alfred decided to insert himself into whatever the hell was going on, obviously also more aware of current events than Selina. "I believe the decision was made for you tonight whether you like it or not. You can't go on doing this by yourself," he tried. "And I think you know that."

Bruce shook his head without turning to look back at the older man. "I'm not having this conversation with you again, Alfred. Not right now. Not after tonight." There was an obvious current of tension and exhaustion lacing Bruce's every word and move as he settled into the computer chair, throwing his cape roughly over the back. Even without knowing him as the other two men in the cave did, Selina knew he'd never back down. No matter how worn down he was. It wasn't pride so much as it was stubbornness. He literally felt he _had _to. To him, it was the only way.

"The Batman has to be greater than a few late nights," Bruce finished, seeming to put Selina's exact thoughts about his psyche into words. "You know that."

"Yes, but it's not just a few late nights, is it?" Alfred said, coming around to stand at the younger man's side. Bruce didn't look up at him. "You've been putting yourself through the wringer for weeks on end now without a pause. You've been facing every mob and gang in Gotham, along with this Riddler character, and Miss Isley for...months. And now the Joker again. If you push yourself any farther you might very easily not come back one night. And how would the legend of the Batman go then?" Bruce glanced tiredly up at his butler at that, his bloodshot eyes betraying him despite the steel in his words. "How would its symbol be remembered? What good could he inspire in Gotham if he failed?"

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asked softly. He pivoted back to the computer monitors and began entering a line of text in a search window. "Alfred, I can't just take a vacation when things are at their worst. Hundreds died tonight. Do you really expect me to rest after that?"

That had the older man momentarily stumped. Eventually he rested a wrinkled old hand on his charge's armored shoulder pad. "I don't presume to know what the right answer to any of this is. I doubt anyone does. What I _do _know is that you can't go on this way with the way things have been going. It won't end well. There _are _people that don't wish that for you." Alfred looked straight back at her, his gaze solemn, sending her an unspoken question.

Like he was asking her permission.

Selina swallowed. When she'd come to this town things had been so simple. No attachments, no responsibilities, only the mission and her revenge. It was all her life had been for years. So, how had things gotten so damned muddied and complicated all of a sudden? How was it she was now being asked to be a good guy? I mean, shit, she was _no _hero. Not even close. And they expected her to help _him_? The guy that every criminal the world over had at least heard about.

She swallowed again. No. It was for Bruce she told herself. They were asking her to help Bruce. The Batman was just a coincidence. Of course, either way there was no going back. Saying yes had consequences. Big ones. It made for even more complications and put that simple existence and straightforward mission all the further away.

But, how was she supposed to say no?

Selina surprised herself when she nodded. "What if," Alfred said, still looking at her, but addressing Bruce, "for once, you actually accepted someone else's help?"

Bruce looked back up at his oldest friend's face and then followed the man's eyes to Selina.

"You have allies," Alfred continued, indicating himself and Fox. She knew that extended to the Commissioner and possibly others she was unaware of as well. Apparently he was also including her on that small list. Something told her that was more significant than she could imagine. The butler looked at Lucius Fox and nodded. "You've chosen to extend your trust. Why not take it a step further."

Bruce's eyes never left her.

Normally she'd probably have smiled demurely or cocked her head the slightest bit as if to say, "You know you need me." Her attitude was one of her defense mechanisms. Hell, under some circumstances she'd probably have even winked. But, not tonight. Coolly she just continued to meet his stare.

"She's not ready for this."

"Sir, I doubt very seriously if anyone is really ready for _this_. That doesn't negate the fact that she can help. That she wants to help."

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut as though he were willing himself to find patience. "Alfred, Rachel..."

"Wanted to help this city just as much as you did," the butler said, cutting him off. "She believed in you. Harvey Dent believed in you. They _both_ trusted in what you're doing.?

"And look what happened to them," Bruce said darkly.

"Not because of you," the older man replied gently, but with surprising force. "Because they made a choice and took a stand. They died because they found something they felt strongly enough to fight for. Just as you have. Maybe even as she has."

She wanted to run. This was _not _how things were supposed to be going. She wasn't the hero. She wasn't the one to fight for what's right. Hell, she wasn't even girlfriend material.

Still, she stayed rooted to the spot.

Bruce turned his eyes back on Selina, studying her with an intensity that even she had trouble standing motionlessly against. Seriously? Why was she still here? Alberto was in Europe. That's where the trail she'd been following for more than two and a half years led and yet she was still _here_. She couldn't even guarantee she'd come out of this alive at the end, dammit.

But, how was she supposed to say no?

Finally, after taking way too long to come to some kind of important decision he nodded the slightest bit and turned back to his damned computer screens.

"Fine. Show her."

Alfred turned and smiled kindly to her, silently thanking her before glancing at Mister Fox.

"Mister Wayne decided to take it upon himself to lend you a hand." The older black man smiled good naturedly as he hefted the two cases to the utility table nearby, motioning her to come closer. "He had me take a look at some of the gear you've been using. See where I might be able to improve on it a little."

Selina's eyes widened and she turned to look at Bruce. He wasn't paying attention. So, he was actually...helping her? This is where it'd gone? This was the surprise? Even when he knew what her end goal was? For all he knew she would abandon him at any point and still...

"And here I thought you stole them," she said quietly, thinking back to the heated argument they'd had when she'd discovered her things missing. She'd nearly said some very terrible things. Hell, she'd been seeing red to the point that she'd very nearly hit him. Or at least tried to. She still doubted her ability to even land a strike on Bruce unless he let her. "Wasn't sure I'd get to see this stuff again."

"I told you it was a surprise." Bruce never even turned to look at her, simply continued staring at the monitors as he cycled through camera footage while Alfred cautiously removed the cape from his shoulders.

Could it really be this simple? Maybe it was her nature or her upbringing reasserting itself, but she hesitated. Everyone wanted something. Even a guy with the resources of Bruce Wayne. Nothing in this world came free.

"So, what is this then? A bribe?" she asked. That finally got his attention as he glanced back at her from the computer station. His expression though was unreadable. Selina felt her blood begin to heat, that cold simmering feeling as her fists tightened. She wasn't a trusting person. Maybe it was the fact that she _did _trust this man that was leading her to continually question him, expecting the double cross at any point. But, was this how it was going to be? Not a gift, but a payment? Deep down, after all this and all they'd worked through, Bruce was still just going to try and force her to fit into the hole he wanted for her? Buy her complacency. "Don't you dare think this changes anything. You can't just buy me or bribe me and expect that I'll back down from Alberto. He still answers to me for what he's done."

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do. At least this way," he gestured towards the two cases and Fox, "well, at least this way you may get to be alive at the end of it." Bruce glanced away, obviously just as uncomfortable with these moments as she was. "And maybe I'd very much like that."

There wasn't anything to say to that. Okay, so neither one of them was perfect. He was forceful and secretive and obstinate to a degree she'd never even heard of before. But, she was deceitful and mistrusting and almost just as stubborn. Christ, they were a mess. But, he'd shown her the truth, right? He'd shown her the cave and the mask and decided to help her for some insane reason. But, he'd also obviously considered _not _giving her things back. Yep, mess only scratched the surface of whatever the hell this was. Calling it a relationship was almost too simplistic.

But, again, she couldn't find it in her to tell him no.

When Bruce turned back around, ending the conversation, Fox unlatched the first case, quickly pulling out the suit that lay within. Her suit. Curiously she stepped forward, leaning in to look more closely.

"To be honest, you'd managed to piece together a fairly solid piece of equipment," Lucius was saying, draping the garment out across the table. "Mixture of kevlar and leather for durability and some manner of protection while also keeping it lightweight. On the arms we left that in place for the most part. I added some woven fibers of a newer, composite material in there to add to the protection level a bit without adding too much to the bulk." He turned the bodice over, bending it slightly to show its slight rigidity. "Reinforced the torso with lightweight ceramic plating beneath the fabric. A bit more...subtle than Mister Wayne's, but also nothing of the level and thickness of his suit. Should be enough to prevent any direct hits from instantly being lethal, but I wouldn't exactly recommend running out and getting yourself shot to find out. It's also resistant to fire, electricity, and most commonly used solvents."

Selina frowned, manipulating the suit between her fingers. There was a reason she'd gone with only the combination of fabrics in the first place. Her greatest assets were her stealth and agility. Additional weight and rigidity would only serve to hamper both of those skill sets. She'd chosen long ago to go with elusiveness over pure protection. Now, that was being taken away from her and she wasn't the fighter Bruce was.

She shook her head. "I'm afraid it's going to be too heavy with the plating. Once you add in the harness and tech I'm going to be weighted down too much. I need things as streamlined as possible."

Fox just smiled at her. "All told we're only looking at about two to three pounds of additional weight from your normal loadout."

Now _that_ got her attention. Her eyebrows went up into her hairline with that one. An amount of added weight that miniscule was, well...next to nothing in the scheme of things. For the added protection it provided it was downright unbelievable. Selina picked the entire suit up, hunching over to look over the seams as she felt the heft. She could feel the small, rigid plates just beneath the surface, but without touching them you wouldn't even know they were there. The entire jumpsuit still looked perfectly smooth and streamlined to her eye as well with only the different textures, materials, and heavy duty stitching breaking up the smooth lines. It _did _feel heavier though.

Selina eyed the older man curiously. "What's the catch?" she asked.

"Well, for one we had to lose weight in other areas in order to accommodate the plating. I parted out your tech..."

"The tech?" she said, cutting him off. "Whoa. Wait, I am not giving up my stuff." Selina dropped the garment back on the tabletop unceremoniously. "I'm sorry, but I need those tools. Been through a lot of trial and error getting things just how I like them and I'm not planning on changing it all around now."

Mister Fox held up his hands placatingly. "And you've still got every last one of them. Promise." When she opened her mouth to question him he pressed on. "I didn't actually mean you were losing them," he said, pulling out two more items from the second case. "Just meant they'd been streamlined a bit." He handed both pieces to Selina for her inspection. "Gauntlets. Reinforced and armored on the outside so they'll take a beating. Left wrist has a built in chronometer while the right one features sheaths for lockpicks and small tools." He reached across the table to turn one over in her hands. "The inner portions feature a molded touchscreen and display panels. I integrated most of your hacking and surveillance hardware and software into the frames." He chuckled good-naturedly. "Even managed to improve on some of it. They're wireless and remote access capable and even feature a few other goodies I threw in for fun." Lucius winked at her. "Also has a GPS unit and tracking system. Just make sure to look over the directions."

Selina blinked and nodded dumbly. He'd just mentioned the contents of the majority of the compartments on her rather cumbersome utility belt. Everything from her lockpicks and tools to remote cameras, safe cracking electronics, and the other sophisticated equipment she'd managed to procure for herself over the years. In a matter of a couple days he'd managed to combine and miniaturize all of it into a pair or armored forearms. And then he acted as if it was an everyday occurrence. This was among the most fantastic gifts anyone had ever given her. The cost alone to engineer something like this had to be astronomical.

"I...I don't know what to say," she managed.

Fox just waved it off. "Not necessary," he said. "This stuff's fun. Gives me a challenge. You'd be surprised how tame running the day to day of a multi-billion, multinational is in comparison. Besides," he began rummaging in another one of the cases, "we're not even done yet. You can thank me then."

There was more?

Selina looked over at Bruce, but he was quietly talking to Alfred as the man cleaned the punctured skin on his upper back.

"Alright. The gloves." Fox came back up and handed her what looked like the exact same clawed garments she'd developed herself. Everything, right down to the sharpened, gleaming metal nails and textured grip on the fingertips looked the same. "The claws are diamond tipped titanium carbide now so the density and cutting strength has increased quite a bit. It'll take a hell of lot to make these things ever go dull. Reinforced the knuckles too with the same material so your strikes should pack quite a bit more force. Now, the nails on the index fingers of both hands are hollowed for use as a delivery system..."

"Wait, what?" she asked, holding the gloves a bit more gingerly out in front of her, but looking closely at them. For the life of her they looked exactly the same. "Delivery system? Delivering what?" Selina eyed them warily before looking back at the older man. If it was something nasty or dangerous she sure as hell didn't want to be setting them off. Hell, part of her was even uncomfortable having the nails be anything more than simple cutting blades. While her technical expertise was fairly pronounced where it came to locking mechanisms, security systems, and electronic measures and countermeasures she was all but completely unversed in chemicals, drugs, and poisons. "What are we talking here? Acid? Gas?"

"No, not quite. Think hypodermic needle," he explained, pointing to a tiny bump along the side of the glove's index finger. "Each glove contains an ampule that secretes a powerful, but non-fatal tranquilizer. Basically, the idea is scratch someone, get it into their bloodstream, and they'll be down for the count before you know it."

Selina looked dubiously at him. "Just like that?"

"Well, that's in theory. You can talk to Mister Wayne about the practical applications. He's been using it for awhile and I haven't had any complaints come trickling back." Both of them glanced at the man in question, or rather his back as he continued typing away all the while pointedly ignoring them both. Fox just shrugged, used to the practice and set the gloves back in the case. "Each hand has enough for probably, oh...maybe three grown men depending on size and weight. Its effects generally last a good hour or more."

"Any danger in accidents with this stuff?"

"What? Like scratching yourself and putting yourself out cold?" Selina nodded seriously. Lucius just smiled softly again and shook his head. "Don't think safety is a primary concern in you and Mister Wayne's chosen line of work. Still, your suit is pretty tear resistant. So long as you don't puncture it with any real force you should be safe from any accidents."

The hood and goggles came next.

"Left your goggles alone," Fox said, indicating the expensive multipurpose instruments which he then set aside, "but I added a thin composite shell around your head and segmented plates down the neck that'll increase protection from blunt force trauma quite a bit." He turned the whole thing inside out, displaying an intricate set of electronics woven neatly into the fabric and plating. "There's an earpiece on either side of the head wirelessly connected to the built in radio in your gauntlet. Now, the hood will muffle any noise produced by the speakers enough that there won't be any sound to give away your location, but it also shouldn't affect your normal hearing either. The microphone for the system is in your neck piece. Fits a bit snuggly so it can pick up the movement of your vocal chords in your throat. That way we can get it to amplify even a whisper into something much more clear on the other end of the line.

Selina took the hood from the older man, noting the weight and the subtle feel of the interconnected plates along the back and front of the neck. "Is this the setup Bruce has?" she asked without looking up.

"One in the same. I even included the hardware in the ears..."

Selina turned toward him and laughed at that. "You're saying the ears are functional now?"

Lucius returned her smile. "Yes, ma'am. Directional microphones connected to the earpieces. Turn them on and eavesdropping becomes a whole heck of a lot easier. Effective range is maybe a hundred yards depending on line of sight and ambient sounds. Obviously the quieter the better."

She chuckled again and handed the hood back. Leave it to these guys to take a joke she was just embracing and turn it into something useful. They really didn't have much of a sense of humor about this stuff, did they? Not that she was complaining at the moment.

"Last but not least," he said, producing her coiled up bullwhip and promptly handing it to her. "Structurally it's been modified a bit. Synthetic fibers woven into the leather to increase tensile strength, that kind of thing. Added a titanium pommel to the handle so it can be used effectively as a club too. But," he pointed to a small depressed button built into the grip the Selina had overlooked at first glance, "push that and you'll be channeling one hell of a strong electrical current down its length. More than enough to incapacitate a grown man." He glanced at the billionaire still dressed mostly in black armor as Alfred administered medical aid. "Even someone of Mister Wayne's impressive stature." That earned a dark look from Bruce. "And before you ask about accidentally electrocuting yourself, the grip _is_ insulated and so is the suit. So long as you haven't managed to get yourself tangled up in it without that and you'll be fine."

Fox replaced the items in their respective cases, latching the lids securely before sliding them over to Selina. "Instructions for everything's already in there. Now, I'd advise you to at least take a glance at them before you field it all. Unlike Mister Wayne, I hope you'll actually take that seriously and have a look. I don't exactly write them because I find it particularly stimulating."

Selina just stared at the two cases, barely hearing him as she trailed her fingers over the smooth sides and along an occasional ridge. "Thank you," she whispered softly before looking up to meet his eyes. This was never really her forte either. She didn't generally have things given to her. In her experience if there was something she wanted she'd have to take it. "That's all I can really say. Truly. I doubt I deserve any of this or any of your help..."

Fox held up a hand to stop her, his gentle smile "Thanks was all you needed to say."

She smiled again softly staring at the cases and the possibilities they contained before looking back up at him. "I didn't see a cape?"

Lucius returned her smile, knowing she was avoiding any further uncomfortable, heartfelt moments and shrugged. "Wasn't aware cats could fly." The man gestured to the seated Batman nearby. "Unfortunately that takes a bit longer than a couple days to put together, frame out, and size properly. Sorry."

"Well, I guess nobody's perfect." She looked again at the cases. "And no invisibility?"

"Well...come back and see me in a year."


End file.
